


The Road So Far

by sodium_amytal



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Drama, Humor, M/M, Road Trips, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 104,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>July 1977. Jimmy is thirty-three years old with nothing to show for it. No beautiful wife. No two-point-five kids. No satisfying, fulfilling career. Nothing to point to a life being lived with any success. His closest friends are Beep, his high school friend turned Hollywood hotshot who supplements Jimmy's burgeoning cocaine addiction, and Robert, his annoyingly British coworker at Swan Song Records. </p><p>After Jimmy finds himself unemployed, he boldly attempts to make a change: he's going on a cross-country road trip, and he's taking Robert with him. Burning up the highway, Jimmy struggles to make sense of the mess his life's become and tries in vain not to fall in love with Robert, whose brilliant optimism threatens to break through Jimmy's cynical, hardened heart. As they drive across the United States, strangers become friends, passions are awakened, and lives begin anew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [The Road So Far](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9630821) by [leotart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leotart/pseuds/leotart), [sodium_amytal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal)



> So here's the roadtrip au I was talking about! I hope you guys enjoy it! I did a lot of things differently with this one, and I'm not sure how well this will be received. Most notably, all the characters are American, except for Robert. Try not to think too hard about how that would affect personality, appearance, and all that jazz. Jimmy was never with the Yardbirds or even a studio musician, so that poses a curious question about how rock music would have evolved. Just...try not to overthink it? XD 
> 
> Jimmy/Jeff fans might be pleased with an upcoming plot point. Or maybe not? idk. Bonsy is in here because I wanted to take a shot at writing it, and this story gave me that opportunity. So as a result, this might seem a little fanservicey, like, "oh you just threw all the popular LZ pairings into one story because reasons!" Which...yeah, I kinda did. But I think they work within the context and framework of the story, and that's what matters. 
> 
> I have a ridiculously long fanmix for this, but I'm going to post it about halfway through the story (or maybe sooner?), and save the second round of illustrations for the "end of story" post that has previously been reserved for fanmixes. But since this mix has no spoilers, I figure I can post it ahead of time. So look forward to a ~9 hour mix! :D 
> 
> I'm very eager to hear what you guys think of this story so far!

Jimmy's cock is broken.

He's lying in bed with a beautiful girl, her soft hand attempting to will his unyielding penis to life. Beyond the door, Jimmy can hear the not-so-muffled sounds of pulse-pounding disco music, raucous laughter, and lively chatter.

The mansion belongs to one of Jimmy's friends out in Beverly Hills. Jimmy and Beep—real name B.P. Fallon—went to high school together in Pasadena, and while Beep went off to become a successful Hollywood producer, Jimmy, well,  _didn't_. He's not famous or talented in any way, so he feels like an impostor in this society of tall, gorgeous women in spangly, expensive dresses and well-built men in leisure suits.

The girl—Pamela, Jimmy remembers she told him her name while they were snorting lines on the patio—strokes his cock, her thumb grazing over the head. His dick just looks ashamed, wilted and pathetic. Jimmy shuts his eyes and thinks the dirtiest, most pornographic thoughts he can muster. There's a faint tingle in his groin, then nothing.

"What's wrong?" Pamela asks, a hint of concern in her voice, as though she thinks Jimmy's lifeless manhood is somehow her fault.

"I don't know. This has never happened before." For the past few weeks, Jimmy's been unable to achieve an erection, which makes his sexual encounters a little on the awkward side. He isn't really sure why he keeps trying, but there's something to be said for a can-do attitude. Maybe it's the economy. Stagflation can cause boner problems, right?

Probably not. Maybe his dick's just broken.

Pamela makes a thoughtful noise and continues her manual stimulation of his flaccid cock. Her ample, naked breasts are at eye-level, but looking at them does nothing to arouse him. Fifteen-year-old Jimmy would be sporting a hard-on as cartoonishly absurd as a French baguette, but thirty-three-year-old Jimmy's got nothing. It's like his dick is a living embodiment of the  _Price is Right_  losing horn.

"Maybe you're just tense," Pamela says, pressing soft kisses to the rough line of his jaw. She slides a long, toned leg between his own, her smooth skin gliding against him. She kisses her way down his body and opens her mouth around him. Jimmy groans, because that's what you do, but aside from the hot wetness of her mouth he doesn't really feel anything at all, like he's disconnected from his own body. He can feel the swirls and strokes of her tongue, can hear the wet sounds of her working down there, but he might as well be a million miles away.

"Stop," Jimmy sighs, and she does, looking at him as though he's a complicated math problem she's trying to figure out. "I just—This isn't working." This is, in fact, one of the saddest fucking things that's ever happened to him.

Pamela seems to agree with him, straightening up and searching for her clothes. "Yeah, this is... new."

Jimmy feels compelled to say, "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she says, finding her panties and her dress on the floor. "It happens."

 _But not to me,_  Jimmy wants to protest, because he's never had erection problems before the last few weeks. At the very least, Jimmy Page was confident in his ability to fuck any good-looking woman that came his way; now his dick has given up the ghost.

"Maybe you're just getting bored," Pamela suggests as she's pulling on her clothes. Her dress slides over her voluptuous figure. "You ever fool around with another guy?"

"You are trying to  _help_  me get a boner, right?" The idea of a man fondling his genitals or splitting him open just does not appeal to Jimmy at all. Then again, nothing's appealing to him right now, so who knows? Maybe a good ass-fucking is just what he needs.

Pamela shrugs like she's done all she can. "Well, good luck with your..." She gestures vaguely to his sad excuse for a dick. "Problem."

Jimmy just makes an aggrieved sound. The blare of noise from the party reaches headache-inducing levels for a moment as Pamela leaves, then the door shuts, and the noise is muted once more.

Jimmy stares up at the ceiling, spread eagle on the bed, and wonders when the hell his life became such a train wreck.

* * *

The piercing wail of the phone wakes Jimmy up at the crack of dawn, splitting through his sleep-starved state like a siren. He pries open the rusted locks his eyelids have become long enough to locate the screeching telephone. He mumbles a tired greeting into the receiver, melting into the pillows.

"Page? Aw, shit, I didn't wake you, did I?" It's Beep.

"You know I don't leave my coffin until at least ten o'clock."

Jimmy's certain his world-class hangover is Beep's fault. Whenever Beep invites him to a ritzy Hollywood party, it's as though it's their American duty to get supremely shit-faced. Beep has access to a litany of illegal substances, which he and Jimmy consume in a whirlwind of chaos and debauchery. A night with Beep usually ends with a thrashing hangover and a deep sense of regret.

"So how'd you and Pamela get along?" Beep asks, oblivious to—or perhaps ignoring—Jimmy's sarcasm. "She fuck your brains out?"

Jimmy groans at the memory.

"Nice, nice. She seemed really into you."

"Thanks," Jimmy says, and he feels like he's perpetuating some kind of fraud by withholding the truth about his broken penis. "You know I work today, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, my bad, I just wanted to let you know there's a party at the Chateau Marmont tonight if you wanna come." This isn't news to Jimmy; there's a party in Hollywood every night. "Danny's s'posed to be there with some grade-A smack."

"I dunno, man, I'm pretty beat." Jimmy is not cut out for the wild circus that is Beep's life. He's tried a cornucopia of drugs in attempts to match Beep's frenetic, almost desperate intensity, but they always leave him shaky and more miserable than he'd been the night before.

"That's cool, I just thought I'd let you know." Beep's still talking when Jimmy hangs up and mashes his face into the pillow.

* * *

When Jimmy arrives at work an hour afterwards—still about a half hour late—Robert Plant is already there behind the counter. Jimmy earns his meager paycheck at Swan Song Records, a ridiculously huge record store in the heart of Los Angeles. He's aware of how pathetic his station is in life—being thirty-three years old and making minimum wage selling records. In an economy where simply having a job is an accomplishment, Jimmy's job represents failure. At least they don't make him cut his hair or wear a tie.

"Good morning, Pagey!" Robert chirps in his ridiculous accent. He's so British it's hard to believe there's a part of the world where people actually talk like this. With his disgusting optimism, open-chested blouses, and unnecessarily tight jeans, it's as though someone called a casting agency and requested an actor to play the part of someone to annoy the hell out of Jimmy.

"Nothin' good about it, Sunflower," Jimmy groans, stashing his half-empty Styrofoam coffee cup underneath the register. Robert's height and wild mane of blond curls make him look like an anthropomorphic sunflower, but he never seems to notice the veneer of mockery behind the nickname.

"I dig your shirt," Robert says, and Jimmy has to follow his gaze to his own chest to see the iconic Dark Side of the Moon album art emblazoned across his t-shirt. That's pretty much their relationship: stupid nicknames and Robert's appreciation of Jimmy's musical taste.

Jimmy nods and grunts his appreciation, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "How can you even function this early?"

"I like mornings. I like watching the world wake up, watching the sun crawl into the sky. There's something very beautiful about it all."

"Alright, Shakespeare, tone it down. You're giving me a headache." Jimmy swallows down another gulp of coffee.

Robert smiles sheepishly, interpreting the teasing as some sort of proof that he's earned Jimmy's camaraderie.

"Honestly, why bother opening a record store before noon?" Jimmy says with a shake of his head.

"It's summer," Robert points out, as though Jimmy couldn't tell from the oppressive heat and the way the sun shines like a goddamn supernova. "Kids are out of school."

"I'm sure they'd rather sleep in than wake up at ten in the morning to buy the new Foreigner album."

Robert toys with one of the silver bangles around his wrist. "Benji wants to see you when you get a moment."

"He say why?"

"Not really. Just that it was important."

Benji is the current store manager, and Jimmy's secretly hoping today is the day Benji finally steps down and turns over the helm to Jimmy, as promised. After Jimmy's previous employer went bankrupt, he was pretty much screwed until Benji came along and offered him this position. The deal went that after a six-month probationary period Benji would promote Jimmy to manager due to his experience as a supply-chain consultant.

Jimmy may have been marking off the days on his calendar.

He takes one more long swallow of coffee and steps out from behind the counter. The door to the manager's office opens, and Peter Grant steps out. His jaw twitches when he sees Jimmy. "Page." Grant speaks Jimmy's name like a Bond villain, which is rather fitting, because Jimmy sees Grant as his nemesis. Whenever Grant walks into a room, Jimmy can't help but hear the Imperial March from Star Wars _._  "Late again?"

Jimmy forces up a smile and says, "Late is such a harsh word. I really prefer the phrase 'early for tomorrow.'"

Grant is not amused, but Jimmy hears a huff of laughter behind him that's obviously Robert's. "That's very clever, but you know how important it is to be on time."

"I'm sure the Death Star is fully operational with Robert at the helm."

Grant's face is a mix of unhappy lines and angry scowls. He's a beast of a man—over six feet tall and averaging maybe three-hundred pounds—but he's also a corporate shill. As a supervisor, all Grant has the power to do is make Jimmy clean things, which works out great for Jimmy, because he hates dealing with customers. What Grant sees as punishment Jimmy sees as relief.

"Maybe you think this is all a big joke, but people are losing their jobs. The economy hasn't been this bad since the Great Depression."

Jimmy shrugs, says, "Well, that wasn't so bad."

Darth Grant huffs an angry sigh and shakes his head. "Keep laughing while you still can," he scolds, storming off to rally his stormtroopers or whatever the hell he does when he's not bothering Jimmy.

Jimmy slips into the room and finds Benji at his desk, worriedly scribbling figures onto a bright yellow notepad. He looks up and tries a smile. "Jim, hey, how's it goin'?"

"Robert said you wanted to see me?" Jimmy briefly wonders if Grant's foul mood has anything to do with Jimmy's upcoming promotion.

"Yeah, yeah, listen, Cole's coming in today for a, uh, professional review, as he calls it. So try to be on your best behavior. Y'know, get some good vibes goin'."

Richard Cole owns multiple record stores across the United States, and every so often he pops in to make sure none of them have gone to hell. For the most part, he's primarily concerned with cleanliness and the fact that they're not understaffed. So Jimmy's not too worried.

"You want me to kiss and make up with Grant?" Jimmy asks, because that's the real problem here. When two of your employees hate each other, it probably reflects poorly on your management skills.

"This is Grant we're talkin' about," Benji acknowledges. "Just try not to kill each other."

"I think I can manage that."

When Jimmy gets back to the storefront, he starts sweeping the floor. Anything to look busy. "Where's Lord Vader?"

"He went into the stock room." Robert pushes the hair out of his face, leans forward against the counter. "How can you stand it when he yells at you like that?"

"Eh, Grant's all talk. Besides, his hatred fuels me. I thrive off of it, y'know, like how athletes play better under pressure."

Robert makes a face like he doesn't understand. "So what did Benji want?"

"He didn't tell you?" Jimmy thinks about that for a moment. "Of course he didn't. You're the perfect employee. He just wanted to make sure Grant and I won't kill each other when Cole stops by today."

"You really think I'm the perfect employee?" Robert asks, his face lighting up in wonder. God bless this ridiculous human ray of sunshine.

"For starters, I find it hard to believe you've ever had anything bad to say about anyone. Plus, you're kind of a kiss-ass."

"I am not!"

Jimmy laughs and shakes his head. "Only a kiss-ass would be offended at being called a kiss-ass."

"There's nothing wrong with being nice to people, Pagey."

"Is everyone as cheery as you over in jolly old England?"

"I like to think I'm unique."

"Yep, we're all special, unique snowflakes," Jimmy says, rolling his eyes.

By the time Richard Cole arrives, it's around two in the afternoon. He doesn't say much to Robert or Jimmy, just requests Grant meet him in the manager's office with Benji.

"Do you think Grant's getting fired?" Robert asks in a whisper once the door shuts.

"We could only be so lucky," Jimmy says, but there's a slow, sinking weight in his stomach, and he can feel the tsunami coming.

They mill about in the store for a while until the door to the office swings open. Benji emerges carrying a cardboard box filled with his personal items underneath one arm. Jimmy's mouth drops open in stunned shock, the breath whooshing out of his lungs. "What the hell happened in there? Did he fire you?"

Benji offers a pained smile, as though he's waiting to be slapped. "Sorry, Jim."

"Why would he do that?" Robert asks, looking to Jimmy for reassurance. But Jimmy's stricken anew by a horrifying realization. If Benji's gone, who's taking his place?

Jimmy looks at Benji and whispers, "No." He doesn't give Benji time to answer, just rushes out from behind the counter. He bursts into the office, not even bothering to knock, and the door thuds against the wall.

Richard Cole looks unimpressed by the intrusion, but Grant is smiling like the goddamn Cheshire cat. "Page, this is a private meeting," Cole says. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Did Benji just get fired?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but Mr. LeFevre was"—he pauses, searching for the word—"ill-equipped to take this company to the next level. I've put quite a lot of thought into this decision, and I've found a highly qualified candidate to replace him."

It doesn't take long to figure out who Cole's talking about, because Grant's just standing there smiling at Jimmy, and Grant's happiness means Jimmy's  _un_ happiness. Jimmy shakes his head. Denial: the first stage. "You can't be serious." But he is, and Jimmy's a little astounded that he didn't see this coming.

In a daze, Jimmy heads back to the floor where Robert and Benji are still talking. "Cole just promoted the Antichrist."

* * *

The afternoon carries on in the wake of Darth Grant's unholy rule, but everything feels different, like the building's been replaced with an alien replica of itself. Robert and Jimmy stay uncharacteristically silent, fearing any display of friendship might offend Grant on a molecular level. Jimmy wishes Robert would just start a conversation already, because if he's going to survive here he's got to have a safe haven. Robert, as cheerful and goofy as he is, is a comfort in these trying times.

They close the store around seven p.m., and while Jimmy's lifting the trash bag out of the garbage his life goes to shit in slow motion. The bag, overloaded with greasy wrappers and half-empty soda cups from the burger shop next door, splits open. Jimmy's powerless as the collection of garbage spills onto the clean floor. "Shit."

Robert rushes over to help, but the damage is done. Grant has seen Jimmy's colossal fuck-up, and he's probably been looking for a reason to fire Jimmy all day. Grant saunters over to the scene of the crime. His gaze flicks to the trash bin. "This is why you double-bag the trash, Page."

Jimmy's face burns, either from embarrassment or anger he isn't sure. "I forgot," he grinds out, knowing enough to know that he's righteously fucked.

"Just like how you  _forget_  to come in on time. Frankly, I'm growing tired of your incompetence. You're habitually late, you barely fulfill your reponsibilities, and your customer service leaves a lot to be desired."

"Anyone can do our jobs, Grant, and we both know it. Christ, we work in a record store. The place isn't gonna fall apart because I come in a half hour late or because I forgot to double-bag the trash."

"Well, then if you're so overqualified you won't have any trouble finding a much better job," Grant says. "Get out of here, Page. I'm sick of looking at you."

Robert gasps, like he's just watched his parents have a heated argument at the dinner table and Mommy just brought up her affair with the gardener. Jimmy feels nauseous and infuriated and helpless all at once.

And then he's hit with a brilliant idea.

"Can I at least take a piss before I go?"

Grant looks momentarily confused, then his eyebrows do an angry little dance across his forehead. "What—Just—Fine, make it quick."

Jimmy disappears in the back of the store, out of sight. If he goes left after turning the corner, he'll be in the restroom. If he keeps going, he'll reach the storage room. Jimmy keeps going. Tucked away amongst the mop bucket and employee lockers is a lock box where the manager keeps the money. The register's already been counted tonight, bills and coins sealed away in the zippered money bag. Jimmy's spent six months tolerating Grant's bullshit in hopes of a promotion that's been snatched away by the jaws of fate. Grant fucking  _owes_  him.

He can hear Robert and Grant's faint voices as he unlocks the box. Jimmy knows the combination; Benji used to let him cash out the register and lock up the money on Grant's off days.

"It was just an accident," Robert's saying, his voice tinged with hurt on Jimmy's behalf. "A little harsh, don't you think?"

"Look, Plant, you're a good kid, and I'm sure you wanna stick up for your friend, but this is business. Don't take it personally."

"Apparently,  _you_  can."

Jimmy smirks to himself, carefully opening the lockbox and unzipping the bag.

Robert keeps talking. "I mean, that's the real reason you fired him, right? Because you don't like him?"

Inside the bag is a huge wad of cash held together with a rubber band. Jimmy counts out two hundred dollars in twenties and pockets the bills. Grant will eventually learn Jimmy stole the money, but he knows there's nothing Grant can do about it. Grant is, after all, a corporate kiss-ass of the highest degree, and he certainly wouldn't want Cole to learn two hundred dollars was stolen under his watch, especially on his first day as manager. Grant will want to keep the theft from the higher-ups, so he'll have to cough up the money himself. As long as the ledger is made whole again, Cole won't care about the hows or whys. Corporations are all the same. Cover-ups and lies.

_Thrust and parry, you fat fuck._

"His disrespect for authority was always a problem," Grant's saying. "A problem Mr. LeFevre never sought to correct, because Page was his friend. A boss should never be  _friends_  with his employees." He says it like it's a dirty word, confirming Jimmy's hypothesis that Grant was never properly socialized as a child. "Even so, this isn't personal. We're in the middle of a financial meltdown. We have to cut costs."

Jimmy's locking up the box when he hears Robert say, "Well, then I quit."

What follows is a stunned silence, and Jimmy can almost hear every molecule in the room look up to see how deeply Robert's put his foot into it this time. "Listen, Robert," Grant says after a moment, "I don't know what's going on with you, but don't let your friendship with Page tarnish your employment here."

"Maybe I don't wanna work for a man who'll fire someone because he doesn't like him. Pagey and I were friends; we worked well together," Robert says, and Jimmy feels a surge of affection for him. "He's right, y'know. Anyone can do our jobs. You want to make it seem like some grand, epic thing when it's really not. All of capitalism is a sham anyway. There are only a few jobs that actually fuel the economy, and the rest are just orchestrated rubbish designed to keep people busy and buying things." Because Robert's British, everything he says sounds effortless, poetic, and condescending, and Jimmy can't stop the prideful smirk from spreading on his lips. "None of us are doing a bloody thing to make the world a better place."

Jimmy chooses that moment to emerge from the back room. He'd whistle if it didn't make him look suspicious. He shoots Robert a friendly "I'm sharing your pain" smile and says, "See you around, Sunflower," before pushing the door open. The jingle of the little bell above the door makes his departure sound far less truimphant than it ought to be.

He fumbles for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, his hands shaking as he lights one up. Outside, the world continues on, cars cruising down the road, people walking along the sidewalk, entirely unaware of the war crimes committed in that ugly building. Jimmy slides into the driver's seat of his van and sucks a long drag into his lungs.

Maybe he'll be able to look back on his time onboard the Death Star with fondness. Robert and Benji were decent people, at least. Never mind that Cole and Grant, the heartless fuckers, kicked Jimmy out into the cold, doomed to be unemployed in a country teetering on financial ruin.

He's never stolen anything before. He feels jittery and adrenaline-fueled, like he just snorted a line of coke. His heart won't stop pounding in his chest. His hands won't stop shaking.

Robert emerges from the store and starts heading toward the parking lot. Jimmy calls, "Hey, Sunflower," and Robert's expression immediately brightens. Jimmy can't help but smile a little himself. "I heard your little speech in there. Nice going."

Robert looks away, like he's embarrassed by the compliment. "Looks like you and I are in the same boat now, mate."

"You're better off, y'know," Jimmy says, taking another drag. "Besides, he would've fired you eventually. At least you got to go out on a high note."

"It's not as liberating as you think."

Jimmy huffs a laugh, smoke flowing through his lips and nostrils. "Thanks for sticking up for me, by the way. You didn't have to do that."

Robert simply shrugs. "He shouldn't have lost his head over it. It was an accident."

"You could argue my entire life is just one colossal accident."

Robert doesn't seem to know how to respond to that, and Jimmy thinks this is the point in the conversation where they're going exchange awkward goodbyes and go their separate ways. Robert will be gone, swallowed up in the city, and Jimmy will never see him again. Of all the people who've come and gone in the six months Jimmy's worked at Swan Song, he's never seen any of them once they left.

Jimmy looks at Robert's face, serious and vulnerable, and asks, "You hungry?"

* * *

The inside of the hamburger shop smells like a giant French fry. Robert's already halfway finished with his second glass of Coke when his food arrives. Jimmy opts for a glass of orange juice, and if Robert finds it strange that Jimmy's not eating he isn't saying anything about it.

"So what're you gonna do now?" Robert asks through bites of his cheeseburger.

"I'll just find something else. I mean, the job market's great right now."

"Be serious."

Jimmy shrugs, slumping a bit against the vinyl seat. "I don't know. For a long time, I've felt like my life hasn't officially started. Like I'm in some sort of purgatory, waiting for the really exciting shit to happen. I've lived over a third of my life and what do I have to show for it?" He sighs. "I'm too old to have this much nothing."

Robert's brow is creased in distress, as though listening to Jimmy's woes means he has to bear their burden.

"Sorry to be such a fucking downer. Maybe we should talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"Well, you, for starters. What brings you to the good ol' US of A?"

Robert smiles knowingly, his blond curls swaying as he shakes his head. "Sorry, that's privileged information."

"Are you a British spy? Do they even have those anymore?"

"No, no, it's nothing extraordinary like that. But you don't go 'round telling everyone your secrets, do you?"

No, he doesn't, because he doesn't really have anyone. Robert's the first person Jimmy's met in a long time where the conversation is born from enjoying each other's company, not a form of social currency paid in exchange for sex or drugs.

"Alright, what did you do before you moved here?"

"Lots of things."

Jimmy chuckles. "Fair enough. Before I joined the Death Star, I was an outsourcing specialist, which is just a fancy term for middleman. I got yelled at a lot, because when you're a middleman everything is always your fault."

Robert frowns, but nods like he now understands why Grant's anger never really fazed Jimmy. "Why on earth would you want a job like that?"

"My dad got me the job when I graduated college. He liked to say 'nobody ever did anything worthwhile with a Fine Arts degree.'" Jimmy smirks to himself. "It was supposed to be a temporary thing, then I'd go on and do something great and fulfilling with my life. Fast-forward to years later when the company goes bankrupt."

Robert chews that one over, sort of sinking into his seat. "'M'sorry to hear that. What do you want to do? I mean, if there were no obstacles."

"I don't have a clue," Jimmy says, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. "Isn't that the saddest fucking thing you've ever heard? You're supposed to have that shit figured out by the time you hit thirty, right?"

"Well, what about university? Did you have something you wanted to do back then?"

"Nope," Jimmy says, realizing that every word out of his mouth isn't exactly presenting him as the best company to keep. He can't help but wonder if this aimlessness is why he doesn't have any meaningful friendships. "My parents forced me into college right after high school, so I majored in something that would serve absolutely zero purpose." He swallows down a long gulp of juice. "You're looking at the king of self-sabotage here, Sunflower."

Robert pushes a fry through the ketchup on his plate. "If you didn't want to go to uni, then there must have been something else you wanted, right?"

Jimmy tries to remember his hopes and dreams at eighteen. "Most of my friends from high school studied abroad or went off and saw the world for a bit before they went to college. I thought about doing that, but my parents said no. They didn't want to risk it, with the draft and all. I'm still not sure if I wanted to travel just 'cause everyone else was."

The corner of Robert's mouth twitches into what might be a smile, as though he relates to something Jimmy said. "Maybe it's still worth doing."

"Yeah... Just drive and see where the road takes me."

"I could go with you," Robert says, trying casual. "If you want some company. I mean, it's not like I have anything better to do."

"Yeah, you did quit your job for me. Guess I owe you one."

Robert grins, and Jimmy's got no idea how he's supposed to deny this idiot anything.


	2. Carefree Highway

The next day, Jimmy arrives at Robert's apartment around noon. His van's loaded with duffel bags of clothes, boxes of records and books, some extra pillows and blankets, and a couple cartons of various other items he didn't want to part with. If he's going to be on the road for God knows how long, he wants all the comforts of home—or at least as many as he can cram into the back of a Ford Club Wagon.

He switches the ignition off and heads up the walkway. Robert's apartment building looks sad and lonely. The paint is sun-faded, and the roofing might be falling apart. A drainage pipe lilts to the side at a particularly gloomy angle. There's a worn welcome mat at the front door and a tiny potted plant.

Jimmy knocks on the door, and Robert answers almost immediately. He's wearing another open blouse, his tight and toned chest on display, and Jimmy isn't sure why his gaze lingers there a second too long. "You, um, are you ready?"

"Absolutely!" Robert disappears for a moment, then reappears with one large suitcase. Jimmy thinks he may have under-packed.

"That's all you're bringing?"

"I travel light."

"You know we might make it to the east coast, right?"

"It's not like it's that hard to use a laundromat, Pagey. Besides, they're fun. You ever sit on one of those washing machines when it's running?" A wide smile spreads across Robert's face.

Jimmy can't help but chuckle. "I don't think they let you do that anymore." He carries Robert's bag to the van because he's a gentleman at heart.

Robert makes a surprised gasp when Jimmy opens the back of the van. "You brought your whole house?

"Ha-ha," Jimmy says, rolling his eyes and finding a space for Robert's suitcase. He shuts the doors emphatically. "You travel light; I don't."

"Obviously!" Robert moves for the passenger door, oblivious to Jimmy's death glare. He's made himself comfortable in the seat by the time Jimmy slides into the driver's side. Robert plays with the various knick-knacks hanging from the rear-view mirror until Jimmy bats his hands away and makes him stop.

"I hope you won't need me to stop for a while, because I don't plan on it until we get to Phoenix," Jimmy says, digging the map out of the glovebox.

"We're skipping Las Vegas?" Robert whines.

"It's just as much a cesspool of hedonism as Los Angeles," Jimmy sneers as he snaps the glovebox shut. "That's what I'm trying to get away from. Besides"—he spreads out the map—"you go to Vegas and you're stuck driving through a bunch of boring states everyone forgets even exist. Whatever I'm looking for, I won't find it in fucking Wyoming."

"Well, not with that attitude." Robert commandeers the map, and Jimmy starts the ignition. The engine and the radio come to life; months of Robert complimenting Jimmy's t-shirts tells him Robert won't be squabbling about the music. Robert just stretches his legs and gazes out the window, so Jimmy pulls onto the road.

It's smooth sailing out of Los Angeles, and once they get on the interstate the signs flying by tell them it's about 300 miles to Phoenix. Robert sings along to the radio; Jimmy can't decide if that's annoying or endearing. It's not like he sounds bad or anything, it's just... Jimmy doesn't know what to make of that soft sparkle tickling against his heart. So he ignores it by turning up the music, which only encourages Robert to sing louder.

As Palm Springs whizzes by them on each side, Robert cranks the window down, and the breeze sends his blond mane flapping. He lays his arm on the windowsill, his fingers occasionally fanning out and dragging through the summer wind. "What have you got in the back of this thing anyway?"

"Clothes. Records. Personal items. Blankets and pillows. Nothing too interesting."

"You're gonna sleep in the van?"

" _We_  are, yes. No sense in pissing all our money away on motels." Jimmy looks over at him for a second. "Why, you got a problem with that?" He doesn't mean that to sound so confrontational.

"I s'pose not. When I was homeless I would've loved to have a nice vehicle to sleep in."

Jimmy certainly wasn't expecting that answer. "You were homeless?"

"It was a long time ago," Robert says with a shrug, like he wishes he hadn't brought it up. "I was a teenager."

"Jesus, what happened?"

"My father kicked me out."

Jimmy opens his mouth, closes it. He isn't sure what to say here. He's never been great at cheering people up or offering consolation. "What'd you do, kill somebody?" But he's really great at saying stupid, potentially offensive things.

Robert huffs a laugh. "No, nothing like that."

A few seconds pass, and Jimmy wonders if Robert's going to continue that train of thought. "Well, don't keep me in suspense."

"'S privileged information."

"You're not a criminal, are you?"

"Not a violent one."

"Gee, thanks, that's so fucking helpful." Jimmy really hopes Robert's just making a joke. Or maybe Robert got busted with weed or LSD or something. He seems like the type. "I wish I had something equally disturbing to share, but, sadly, I don't." Except for his boner problems, but like hell Jimmy's telling anyone about that. That's going to the fucking grave with him.

The great thing about Robert is how excited he is to be here. He takes pictures of interesting signs, sings along to the radio, and tries to prod Jimmy into conversations about music and the sights they pass on the interstate and whatever ridiculous thought pops into his head. In the occasional interims of silence between them, Jimmy catches a glimpse of Robert in the corner of his eye. And sometimes Jimmy catches Robert looking at him, too.

As they're crossing the state line into Arizona, Jimmy can't stand it anymore. "Alright, why the hell do you keep looking at me?"

Robert sort of shrinks under Jimmy's anger. "I'm not. I'm looking out your window to see what's passing by on your side."

"Well, I'll clue you in on a little secret. It's just fucking desert! Just like it's been fucking desert for the last hundred miles!" Jimmy feels like his eyes are about to ooze out of his head. He's been driving for over three hours, and he's never been this far from home in his life. He can definitely cross "trucker" off his list of potential careers.

"It's not just desert," Robert protests. "We passed a river. And there's some mountains way off in the distance. And there's some bushes."

"Don't you have miles of undeveloped land back in England?" Robert doesn't say anything, and Jimmy feels like an asshole. "I'm sorry, I'm just—a little on edge right now." A side effect of the lack of cocaine in his system.

"It's okay, Pagey. I can't imagine I'm your first choice for somebody to travel with," Robert says with a surprising lack of self-pity for a statement like that.

"Actually..." Jimmy isn't sure how to continue that sentence. He doesn't want to have a chick-flick moment here, but he's been kind of a jerk to Robert, and the guy did quit his job for Jimmy. "You kind of were. My first choice, I mean."

Robert looks at him again, his golden curls flapping in the breeze. "Yeah? Not just 'cause I was there and you sorta owed me?" Robert sure is milking that one.

"Well, partially. The only other person I consider a friend is kind of..." Jimmy stares ahead at the road while he gathers his words. "Well, if he were here instead of you, this trip would turn into Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas."

Robert misses that reference entirely. "Is that a film?"

"A book."

"Is it any good?"

"If you're on drugs, it's probably a hell of a ride."

"So like Alice in Wonderland, then?" Robert's brain must be a very strange place.

"Yeah, let's go with that."

Robert laughs, and Jimmy tightens his grip on the wheel.

* * *

They roll into Phoenix around five in the afternoon as the sun's a blaring, orange orb in the sky. Robert announces that he needs to eat and pee—weirdly enough, in that order—so Jimmy finds a McDonald's in the heart of town. They sit near the window, but Robert ducks into the restroom while they wait for the food. Jimmy sips at his drink, absentmindedly stares out the window at the parched, sunburned earth.

Phoenix is only about five hours away from Los Angeles, but it feels like a lifetime. Jimmy can't believe he really did this, packed up and abandoned his old life. Even more, he can't believe Robert wanted to come with him. Maybe beneath Robert's goofy, optimistic exterior lies something deeper, something Robert's trying to find, too.

A few moments after the food arrives, Robert slides into the seat across from Jimmy, that same goofy smile on his face. "'M'sorry, I wanted to wait, but my bladder's about the size of a quarter."

Ceremoniously, Jimmy sets his drink on the table and slides the cup away. "And we're done with the lemonade."

Robert laughs as though he's in on the joke instead of being the butt of it. The tray of food in front of them is overloaded with a Big Mac, a quarter-pounder with cheese, and a large order of fries. He unwraps his Big Mac like it's a Christmas present, stopping only when he notices Jimmy isn't reaching for anything on the tray. "You're not eating?"

"No, you go ahead."

"You sure? I certainly won't mind eating all of this, but I ordered with the intent of us sharing."

Jimmy shakes his head. "I had a big breakfast. Go ahead."

Robert hesitates for a moment, but the allure of tasty calories draws him in, and he bites into his hamburger with gluttonous gusto. Jimmy just sips his lemonade and silently judges Robert's table manners.

Robert's working through the quarter-pounder when Jimmy says, "How can you eat like that?"

"What'dy'a mean?" Robert asks once he's swallowed.

Christ, where to start. "That's a lot of food."

"I'm a lot of man."

Jimmy's surprised to hear himself chuckle at that. "Be that as it may... Well, never mind, you're from England. This is probably the most flavorful food you've ever eaten."

Robert affectionately rolls his eyes and flicks a fry at Jimmy. "You're such a snooty little man."

"There's nothing little about me," Jimmy teases back, before realizing that could probably be misconstrued as a flirtation. But Robert doesn't look angry or offended, just sort of glances away and takes a long drink from his soda.

Should Jimmy apologize or clarify his intent? There's nothing more awkward than acknowledging a moment was awkward, so maybe not. He should just let it go, because it's out there now and there's no taking it back. Trying to clear up what he meant will just give Robert the wrong idea.

Jimmy eats the fry that's crumpled and withered on the table. Like a flaccid penis, he thinks, and we're back to his erectile problems.

Robert pushes his hair back and says, "Where did you come up with all those nicknames you had for Mr. Grant?"

That's definitely not the next topic Jimmy thought Robert would bring up. "What, like, Darth Grant? Lord Vader?" Robert nods, his face anticipating an explanation. "You know, Darth Vader?" Nothing. "Star Wars?"

"Is that another book?"

Oh, dear sweet Jesus. Jimmy shakes his head, discouraged by today's youth. "No, it's a movie. Only the most perfect movie ever created." He stares at Robert, trying to figure out if this is an elaborate joke. "Seriously, you've never seen it?"

Robert's brow furrows in distress, like he's worried he's lost Jimmy's respect. "Can't say that I have."

Jimmy drinks down the remainder of his drink until the straw makes an obnoxious sucking sound. "Don't you have any friends? It came out, like, two months ago."

"Mm, it doesn't sound like something they'd be too interested in seeing."

"What kind of boring fucking friends do you have?" Jimmy shakes his head and sighs. "Alright, since it's up to me to fill the glaring and depressing holes in your cultural knowledge, I'm taking you to see it tonight."

"Well, that sounds fun!"

It's at this moment Jimmy realizes he's just asked Robert on a date, and Robert said yes. Neither of them seem to be acknowledging this, though, so Jimmy's going to pretend the subtext isn't there. Because it's not a date. It's not. Even though it absolutely would be if Robert were a woman.

"What's so great about it, then?"

"You know how music has an innate number of chord progressions that our brains recognize as music? Well, movies are the same way—they have a narrative sort of chord progression that they're built around," Jimmy explains. "And Star Wars is the perfect example. You know the basic story structure, right? The beginning sets up the story, then the characters go on an adventure or have a conflict, then there's a climax. Well, with movies, these arcs have to happen down to the minute. I didn't figure this out myself—most of my friends are Hollywood types."

Robert doesn't interrupt, just listens intently and keeps eating.

"Ideally, when the studio exec flips open your script to, say, page 60, they expect to see something very specific on that page. The script needs to follow a specific template. With scripts, each page is about one minute, and the average script is about 120 pages—so 120 minutes. For the scene that starts the adventure, that needs to happen 10 to 15 pages into the script—10 to 15 minutes into the movie. So in Star Wars, the main character meets the droids at this point—that connects him into the main story. Then there needs to be a big event between pages 20 and 30 that changes the main character on a personal level. Exactly 30 minutes into Star Wars, the main character meets his mentor. And at 60 minutes into the movie is a big emotional moment—like a character dying—or a big action scene. At exactly 60 minutes into Star Wars, the Millennium Falcon lands on the Death Star. And at around 80 minutes, there's the low point, and Star Wars hits that one, too.

"So that's why you feel like a movie drags or isn't long enough, because those pivotal moments aren't hitting the right timecodes. Even if it's only off by a few minutes, your brain knows when something needs to happen. Pretty much every decision about what makes it into a movie and what doesn't is based on this time template, which is why stuff gets cut out of movies." Jimmy's about to keep going, but Robert's smiling at him, which is kind of unnerving. "Why are you smiling?"

Robert blinks, and the smile's gone. "Oh, wh—what, was I not s'posed to be listening?"

"You were listening?" Jimmy stopped listening to himself for a moment there.

"Of course. I've never heard you talk about something you're passionate about before." That's probably true. Jimmy's just gone on a long-winded tirade about something he likes, which Robert did on an almost daily basis at Swan Song. He'd talk at length about old blues musicians, about how Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil at a Mississippi crossroads. Anyone else would have tuned him out or told him to shut the fuck up, but Jimmy listened. He paid attention. And now it's Robert's turn.

Jimmy's oddly touched by this. "I'm passionate about lots of things."

"Like how much you hate Mr. Grant?"

"That's  _Darth_  Grant, Robert. He was reconstructed by evil droids and hired by Swan Song."

Robert looks like he's trying not to laugh. "I really need to see this film so I can understand your jokes."

"Damn right you do."

They find a movie theater a little further down the road. Jimmy buys a Coke and a tub of popcorn when they get inside, and Robert pilfers a few handfuls of popcorn as Jimmy leads him where they need to go. The movie's been out for two months, so the room is pretty much empty, which means they can talk if they want to without people shushing or glaring at them.

Jimmy drops into a seat in the back row, and Robert follows suit. Robert takes another fistful of popcorn. "How are you still hungry?" Jimmy wonders, genuinely curious.

Robert shrugs, which Jimmy thinks is as much of an answer as he's going to get.

They settle in as the movie starts, and Jimmy sneaks a few pieces of popcorn while Robert's gazing at the screen in childlike wonder. The last time Jimmy was in a movie theater he was at the Hollywood premiere of The Deep, because Beep had some obscure connection to Nick Nolte. Jimmy had been surrounded by movie stars, producers, writers, and other business big-wigs. Now he's in a tiny, nearly empty Phoenix theater, sitting beside the dorkiest human being imaginable and watching Star Wars for the tenth time.

Robert's watching the screen like he's never been in a movie theater before, enthralled by the tale of spaceships and droids. Jimmy off-handedly wonders who Robert's favorite character is so far, figures it's probably C-3PO since they're both effeminate, golden dorks with pretentious accents. Then Jimmy's snorting into his Coke in a really messy way, and Robert doesn't even notice.

As Luke Skywalker and the gang are sneaking through the Death Star, Robert leans over and says, "So this is how you pictured Swan Song?"

"You didn't recognize that trash compactor they fell into? That was the shop floor."

Robert snags another handful of popcorn, looking sort of surprised when he notices Jimmy's eaten half the bucket. "I dunno, I think you were being a little hyperbolous."

"Like you didn't hear heavy mechanical breathing when Grant spoke."

"Well, if Grant's Darth Vader, then you must be Han Solo."

"Because I'm so relentlessly cool?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'jerk with a heart of gold,'" Robert says, stealing a sip of soda.

"Hey, I'll take it. At least I'm not C-3PO."

Robert makes a pouty sort of smile and settles into his seat.

Jimmy eats the remainder of the popcorn while Robert's distracted by the movie. He kicks his feet up on the back of the empty chair in front of him. Jimmy's never had a theater to himself like this before. All of his cinema visits have been movie premieres, invitations from Beep and his Hollywood cohorts. He's sat elbow-to-elbow with the stars of a film, unable to crack jokes about the movie or just be himself. Terrified to be marked as an interloper in the Hollywood social circle, and terrified to learn he belongs.

But with Robert, Jimmy doesn't have to try to be anyone else, doesn't have to censor himself. He doesn't need to snort cocaine or drop acid or shoot up smack to have a good time with Robert. And Robert would never ask him to. Jimmy hasn't had a decent friend in a long time.

Robert's spellbound during the final battle, so he doesn't reach over for popcorn until the ending credits roll. He's stunned when his hand scrapes the bottom of the bucket. "You ate the rest of it?"

Jimmy just gives him a look, and Robert flicks a half-popped piece of popcorn at Jimmy's face. The kernel hits Jimmy in the cheek, then tumbles down the front of his shirt. "I'll buy you your own next time."

"Next time?"

"Yeah, there's a horror movie out called The Hills Have Eyes." He knows that film's going to scare Robert shitless.

"That sounds scary, and I want no part of it."

Jimmy jostles him with an elbow. "Ah, don't be a pussy."

They wander out afterwards, pushing open doors and stepping out into the night. The temperature's dropped considerably, but the air's still warm and dry. "That was fun," Robert says. "Now I see why you consider Star Wars mandatory viewing."

"And you understand my jokes." Jimmy leads Robert through the parking lot to the van. After they climb inside, Jimmy lights up a cigarette. Robert's doing this awkward quiet thing that Jimmy doesn't know how to deal with. "What's wrong?"

Robert fidgets in his seat, draws a knee up to his chest. Jimmy follows the jean-clad line of Robert's thigh and forces himself to look away. The worrying twitch in his groin does not go unnoticed. "I changed my mind."

Jimmy swears his heart stops in his chest. "About?"

"I don't know if I feel safe sleeping in your van, Pagey. It's a very nice van, of course, I just—Where would we stay?"

Jimmy breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh, fuck. Well, I was thinking the airport parking lot. People leave their cars there all the time."

"Oh. Well, that's alright, I guess," Robert says, sounding entirely unconvinced.

"No, forget it, it's cool. We can get a room for the night. Save the whole 'sleeping in the van' thing for when we're flat broke." After all, Jimmy's got about two hundred dollars of Swan Song's money burning a hole in his pocket.

Jimmy stops to fuel up at a nearby gas station, then he finds a motel off the highway that doesn't look like the set of a horror movie. He gets a room with two beds while Robert unloads the bags and some extra linens from the van. Jimmy hopes this doesn't look too much like a sleazy one-night stand they're arranging for here.

The room is decorated in putrid shades of green and burnt orange. There's a diamond-patterned glass divider and floral wallpaper, and an incredibly ugly Aztec-style bedside lamp. The bed covers are an orangish-brown color with a texture that reminds Jimmy of waffles. The air conditioner sounds its steady hum and fills the room with chilly air.

Robert makes himself at home, stripping off the bed cover and replacing it with a thick blanket from Jimmy's van. "Bed's a bit scratchy," he says by way of explanation, and Jimmy rubs a hand over his own bed's comforter. It's not the most comfortable material, and some of the threads in the stitching are popping up in places. But the sheets are smooth enough, so Jimmy doesn't care too much. Robert tosses an extra pillow onto the bed, an ugly lime green-striped one Jimmy brought along. "I like a lot of pillows."

"As long as you don't sleep naked, I don't care what you do."

"'S fair enough." When Robert's finished replacing the linens, he sits on the edge of the bed and digs through his bag. He moves with the ease of someone who's done this before, or, at least, the type of person who does this. "Do you mind if I wash up first?"

"Go ahead," Jimmy says with a yawn, lying back on the bed. Robert carries an armful of clothes and toiletries into the bathroom, shuts the door behind him. Jimmy finds the remote and switches on the TV, just for something to keep him awake, but he dozes off to the spray of the shower and the drone of the television. At some point in the night Jimmy wakes in a completely dark room, covered in a blanket that wasn't there before.


	3. Making Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting chapters 3 and 4 tonight because I won't be able to post the next update for about 4 days. So I hope these tide you over until then!

The second time Jimmy wakes up it's mid-morning, and Robert's lying on the other bed watching Hollywood Squares. Jimmy groans, because waking up is one of his least favorite activities. Robert glances over at him. "Morning, Pagey!"

Jimmy grumbles and struggles with the rusted locks his eyelids have become. When he finally manages to keep his eyes open longer than two seconds, he notices Robert's still wearing his pajamas, which apparently consist of a worn, holey t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He looks oddly domestic like this. It really doesn't help that he's lying on his stomach, his legs flopping lazily in the air and against the pillows.

"You don't take too long to get ready, do you?" Robert asks.

"You in a rush?"

"Well, it's just—The news said Phoenix has one of the highest crime rates in the country. We probably shouldn't hang around too long, y'know?"

"The news? Jesus, how long have you been awake?"

"I wanted to watch Captain Kangaroo," Robert whines.

Jimmy shakes his head. Of course Robert's a morning person. "Alright, we'll stop in Tucson and hang out for a bit."

"What's in Tucson?"

Jimmy shrugs. "'The ugliest street in America.'"

Robert pauses as though considering that.

"You think you can go two hours or so without food?"

"I'll manage," Robert says with a smile. He's so goddamn cheery about everything. It's  _unnatural_.

Jimmy hauls himself out of bed and drags his overnight bag into the bathroom. The cold spray of the shower wakes him up, and as he cranks the water to a warmer temperature he views his morning erection with promise, like the change of scenery has reawakened his dick. Jimmy wraps a hand around himself and tugs, hoping to discover his sexual incompetence was just a case of genital boredom. He imagines the filthiest things he can, fantasies that would put pornography to shame, but his cock doesn't respond the way he hoped it would. His erection actually seems to be softening, which is just adding insult to injury.

It probably doesn't mean anything. It's not like jerking off with another dude waiting outside is the most ideal masturbatory scenario. Maybe he can try again at some point when Robert's asleep.

Jimmy takes his time drying and curling his hair, because if his face looks this bad today his hair needs to be on point. He throws on some lightweight clothes to combat the heat, brushes his teeth, and crams everything back into his bag.

Just as Jimmy exits the bathroom, Robert's stepping into a pair of jeans, and his back is turned, giving Jimmy an amazing view of his ass. Robert has abandoned his shirt, so Jimmy can see the way his back muscles ripple and how the curve of his spine disappears into his jeans. But  _his ass_. Holy hell. Jimmy's never noticed it before—why would he?—but Robert has an amazing ass. Wars could be waged over that ass.

Just these few moments of ogling start things moving in Jimmy's body—blood flowing and gathering—and he feels alive and tingly with sensation in all the wrong places.

Jimmy makes a choking noise in his throat, and Robert turns around, chagrin painted on his face. "Oh, Pagey, 'm'sorry, I didn't want to rush you." He snatches a t-shirt off the bed and pulls it over his head, which really ought to help divert Jimmy's blood back to the unimportant parts of his body, but it doesn't, because Robert seems to buy all of his clothes one size too small.

"No rush," Jimmy murmurs, entirely aware that he's a liar.

* * *

"Whose idea was it to build cities out in the middle of the desert?" Jimmy asks as they're heading down the interstate. "I mean, who saw a desert and thought, 'yes, this is the perfect climate for people to live in'?"

Robert does that pinched mouth thing he does when he's trying really hard not to smile but can't help it. "I'm not too keen on the heat myself. I've always dreamed about living out in the countryside, but I don't think I could stand the heat. Maybe someplace cold wouldn't be too bad, a quaint little village in some mountain town."

"Why not just go back to England?" Jimmy says before realizing how that sounds. He can already tell this is going to be a friendship in which he spends a lot of time with his foot in his mouth.

"Mm, can't."

"Oh, right, the whole criminal thing." Jimmy takes one last long pull off his cigarette and flicks the butt out the open window. "Y'know, at some point you're gonna have to tell me what you did. You can't keep me in suspense forever."

"I'm quite good at keeping secrets."

"I know you said non-violent, but maybe you killed someone and didn't mean to. Maybe you accidentally backed over someone in your car, y'know, adjusting to this new American system of driving."

"Nothing like that."

"Narrow it down for me: are you a wanted criminal? Does our"—Jimmy searches for the word—"alliance make us partners in crime?"

Robert doesn't say anything, so Jimmy keeps guessing.

"Let me guess: you had a partner, maybe you were bank robbers or something, and they died in a shoot-out and you feel responsible for it. Classic guilt complex."

Robert watches Jimmy for some time, as though searching for something profound in Jimmy's profile. Jimmy bites back his instinct to tell Robert to cut out the staring, because out of the corner of his eye he can see Robert's expression is one of confusion, like he yearns to know the thoughts in Jimmy's head.

"At least tell me you're not some internationally wanted criminal. If the police pull us over, they're not going to haul me in as an accomplice, are they? I'm too pretty to go to prison."

Robert laughs, the sound light and airy, and he says, "I'm not internationally wanted. Yet."

"You're the strangest man I've ever met, Sunflower," Jimmy says and drops his foot on the gas.

* * *

The first thing they do when they arrive in Tucson is eat. Well, Robert eats; Jimmy nurses a warm mug of coffee and stacks the little plastic non-dairy creamer cups into a pyramid. He can feel the tight insistence of hunger building in his gut, but he ignores it for now, despite how the diner smells like sausage and eggs.

Jimmy finds a run-down movie theater in town, and he tricks Robert into watching The Hills Have Eyes by buying tickets for The Deep. After Jimmy buys Robert a tub of popcorn and a soda, he drags him into theater six instead of theater five, and Robert's pretty agreeable until the movie starts.

"You tricked me!" Robert hisses, sounding betrayed.

"You'll get over it. Wes Craven is a master."

Apparently, a movie about a family on a road trip who gets attacked by savages in the desert isn't the best movie to watch when you're on a road trip yourself. Jimmy's amused by the correllation, but Robert stares at the screen in slack-jawed horror, like he cannot believe the shit that's happening on screen. It's kind of hilarious, because Jimmy can tell Robert wants to cover his eyes during some of the more horrifying scenes, but he can't look away.

"How are you not scared?" Robert asks, the images on the screen reflecting like shooting stars across his eyes.

"It's only a movie."

"Just like Star Wars is only a movie?"

Jimmy glares at him. "You shut your mouth."

Through the rest of the movie, Jimmy finds himself stealing sips of Robert's soda and sidelong glances at him while he's enraptured in the film. Robert's face is a study in angles: the slope of his forehead, the rounded jut of his nose, the squareness of his jaw. His chest strains against his t-shirt, like he's Bruce Banner on the verge of Hulking out. There's a thick, crescent-shaped scar near his elbow that Jimmy's never noticed until now.

"What happened to your arm?" Jimmy murmurs, tracing a finger over the length of the scar.

"Car accident." Robert momentarily takes his eyes off the screen to look at the way Jimmy's touching him. Jimmy pulls away as though he's been burned.

"Oh, silly me, I thought you'd been bitten by desert cannibals."

"Shut up," Robert whimpers, cringing as someone dies violently on-screen.

After the movie, they roam around Trail Dust Town, and Robert takes pictures of all the old-west style buildings. He finds a candy store and buys a bag of Buckeyes and a frozen popsicle.

"How can you still be hungry after breakfast and all that popcorn?" Jimmy asks, pointedly ignoring the popsicle's phallic symbolism and the way Robert's mouth works around it.

"They're sweets, Pagey. You don't need to be hungry to enjoy sweets."

There's absolutely no reason for Jimmy to be turned on by this, but he is. Not because he's thinking about Robert sucking his cock. Nope, not at all. He's just hungry, and watching Robert lick and suck something shaped like a dick is fucking with his head. It's a food boner. Totally not gay.

Jimmy sneaks some Buckeyes a little while later when Robert wanders off to the restrooms. If Robert notices the bag's less full than it was when he handed it to Jimmy, he doesn't say anything.

They look through the rest of the shops, and Robert insists on riding all the rides in the amusement park. Luckily for Jimmy, there's only two rides—a carousel and a train—but he still feels like the world's biggest goof.

When night falls, they settle in at a motel and watch television. This motel's got a bit of a western feel to it—wood paneling, log cabin-esque walls, deep browns and reds—and splashes of turquoise with a Native American-influenced bedspread. The room smells like mothballs and cedar.

Robert digs through his bag and produces a small cigar box filled with rolled joints. "You interested?" he asks, a sly smile at the corner of his lips.

Jimmy just stares at the cornucopia of marijuana. "Jesus Christ, Farmer Jed, how much of this do you have? You got a crop back home?" He's never seen this much pot outside of a Hollywood party.

"I'd be a much richer man if I had a pot farm." Robert plucks two joints out of the box with his long fingers. "Care to join me? Unless you're worried about the smell."

"Please, the weed smell would be an improvement." Jimmy takes a blunt and lights up.

A few moments later, they're sitting on the floor, propped against the motel beds while they watch Happy Days reruns in a smoky haze.

"I never thought the Fonz was that great," Jimmy says. "He always seemed like a ten-year-old's idea of cool."

"I think you've got a case of sour grapes," Robert says, taking an extra long pull on the joint.

Jimmy snorts an unflattering sound. "Oh yeah? Well, I don't need a leather jacket and slicked-back hair to be cool."

"Maybe back in the '50s that was hip."

"Doesn't matter. I don't really pay attention to that stuff."

Robert smirks in a way that makes his nose crinkle. "So you don't care about what's in fashion?"

Jimmy takes a drag. "Fuck that."

"Well, that curling iron in your bag says otherwise."

"Keep talkin' shit, and I'll shove it up your ass."

Robert laughs, and he's too high to stop, which makes Jimmy laugh, and now they're two stoned idiots cracking up in a shitty motel room.

When the laughter subsides, Jimmy drops his head back against the bed and sighs. His stomach feels like it's caving in on itself, and it growls in a loud and hard-to-ignore way.

Robert stares at him. "That was you?"

"Yeah..."

"How come you don't eat?" Robert asks, without pretense.

"I do. I just—I'm not used to it." Robert gives him a blank look, and Jimmy thinks he should elaborate. "I, um, I'm sort of coming off coke, and that's—well, I'm getting used to having an appetite again. So that's why I snap at you sometimes."

"Coke as in cocaine?" Jimmy nods, drawing his knees to his chest. "How long have you been using?"

"Off and on the last couple months. Mostly on Fridays and Saturdays when all the big parties go on, y'know. Thank God I don't have that one, giant vampire-bat coke nostril yet," he says with a dry chuckle.

Robert tilts his head, as if searching Jimmy's face for nostril irregularities. Weirdo.

"I guess I was more addicted than I thought, but not as bad as it could have been."

"There's vending machines out front." Robert sets his joint in the ashtray and stands up. "I'll go get you something. What'd'ya want?"

Jimmy shakes his head, ready to deny Robert's offer of goodwill, but he knows he has to eat. "Just surprise me."

Robert leaves the room in search of late-night munchies, and Jimmy flips through the channels. His stomach twists and tightens, starved for some form of nutrients. He never really noticed until now how the cocaine distracted him from hunger, the way it shoved his appetite away into some dark, deep closet. Now his hunger's been unleashed, and the weed sure as fuck isn't helping.

Jimmy's still searching for something better to watch when Robert comes through the door carrying an armload of goodies. "I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I got a variety of things." He sits beside Jimmy and spreads his haul over the floor. There's a bag of Chee-tos, a bag of barbecue-flavored Lay's, two packages of Twinkies, two bags of M&M's, and two cans of Tab cola. "It's a shame you don't have Freddos or Twix over here."

"Yeah, we don't really do weird British candy here in the States," Jimmy says, taking a Twinkie. Robert tears open the Chee-tos and pours some into his mouth. Jimmy has to ask, "What the hell are you doing?"

"You've got to eat them this way," Robert says with his mouth full. "Otherwise it looks like you've fisted an orange."

Jimmy snorts, and he isn't sure if the weed's making that funnier than it is, or if he genuinely enjoys Robert's jokes. He takes a puff off his joint, sets it back in the ashtray.

Robert looks like he wants to reach out in some way, but for one reason or another he doesn't. He opens a pack of M&M's and pours himself a handful. "You should eat," he says, offering Jimmy the candy.

Jimmy draws a few small, round candies between his fingers and pops them into his mouth. After a moment, he says, "You know they stopped making the red ones last year?"


	4. Breezin'

Robert's fair English skin doesn't like the desert heat, so Jimmy drives through Arizona and most of New Mexico until Robert makes him stop somewhere around Las Cruces for lunch. They end up in a crowded little tortilla shack where Robert orders a giant plate of cheese enchiladas. Jimmy eats most of the sopaipillas, licking honey and powdered sugar off his fingers.

On a fuel-up detour, they find a newly-opened winery in La Union and spend an hour or so on a guided wine-tasting tour. Jimmy gets buzzed off the reds, and Robert tries a little of everything. Too dizzy to drive, they walk around until they find a fruit stand. Robert buys a small crate of cherries, and he and Jimmy sit in the back of the van, their legs dangling over the earth as they spit cherry seeds and stems into the sun-baked grass.

Jimmy makes a contest out of how far they can spit the seeds—he wins—and Robert shows off his ability to tie a stem with his tongue. Jimmy laughs, "Never knew you were such a hit with the ladies, Sunflower," and Robert takes the compliment with a shy smile.

* * *

They roll into San Antonio at approximately three a.m. Robert fell asleep two hours ago at the last rest stop, and he's curled in the passenger seat, one of the spare pillows tucked between his head and the passenger door. Jimmy doesn't want to wake him, so he pulls off the highway and into a park, finds an empty lot and tucks the van beneath the cover of the trees. Jimmy curls up in the very back, cushioned by his extra blankets and pillows, and it doesn't take long for exhaustion to overtake him.

Jimmy wakes up to the morning sun bleeding through the windows and Robert whining his name. Blearily, he grumbles, "What?"

"You promised we weren't gonna sleep in the van," Robert complains, and Jimmy can just hear the pout in his voice.

"I never promised that."

Robert avoids addressing that issue entirely. "You tricked me.  _Again_."

"No, I didn't. You were asleep; I didn't want to wake you. Jesus, you try to do somethin' nice for somebody..." It's too early for this shit. He rubs his eyes and rolls onto his back. "Besides, we're still alive, aren't we?" Robert's leaning over the back of the seat, his golden curls hanging like curtains on either side of his face. Jimmy makes note of his own morning erection and attempts to banish it to the darkest corner of hell. "And now we have more money to spend on food and whatever the hell else."

Jimmy makes it up to him by buying him waffles and hash browns at a cafe on the River Walk. He's learning pretty quickly that the way to Robert's heart is definitely through his stomach. Jimmy's beyond wondering where he puts it all. Maybe Brits have freakishly high metabolisms.

"It's really a wonder they don't have this gated off more," Jimmy says as they're strolling the walkway under the shade of cypress and magnolia trees. "Especially since they sell booze in some of these places. How many drunks have they fished outta this thing?" The murky river glistens alongside them, the sun gleaming off its surface.

"You're thinking about pushing me in, aren't you?"

"Now why would I do a thing like that?" Jimmy nudges Robert's shoulder, making him laugh.

"Maybe I should push you in first as a sort of pre-emptive strike."

"You better not," Jimmy threatens, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.

Robert watches him curiously. "Are you scared?"

Jimmy scrunches his face up and glances away. "You'd be scared too if you couldn't swim."

Robert makes an aborted noise that sounds like a snicker. He covers his mouth, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. "How can you not know how to swim?" he asks a little too loudly, and Jimmy fears everyone in a two-mile radius is judging him. "You live in California; there's beaches everywhere!"

"I just don't, okay? I almost drowned at a pool party when I was eight." Jimmy's not proud of this, but he doesn't think Robert's heartless enough to push him into the water now.

Robert's silent laughter has evolved into giggles. "I'm not laughing at you, Pagey, it's just—" He thinks that one over. "Okay, I am."

"Shut up, it's not funny," Jimmy grumbles.

"Well, of course it's not funny to you, you're involved."

"Yeah, who'd've thought the butt of a joke wouldn't be laughing?"

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport. I can teach you to swim if you'd like."

"If I say yes, are you gonna push me in the river?" Jimmy thinks Robert's using a very loose definition of "teaching" here.

"Now why would I do a thing like that?" Robert says, and Jimmy laughs, forgetting, if just for a moment, the mess that is his life.

* * *

They spend two more days in San Antonio exploring the River Walk, the Alamo, the historical buildings, and the newly-renovated Market Square. Jimmy discovers he actually enjoys Robert's company. Robert may be a ridiculous morning person who turns his nose up at coffee and sings too loudly in the shower, but he's responsible for the upsurge of dopamine flowing through Jimmy's brain lately. In the absence of cocaine and whatever drugs Beep and friends encouraged Jimmy to snort, shoot, and smoke, Robert is invigorating and exciting—in an absolutely non-sexual way, of course. Jimmy's still vehemently denying his awkward erections around Robert ever happened.

Tonight, Jimmy's looking at his reflection in the motel's bathroom mirror, wondering where everything went wrong. Robert's brushing his teeth on the other side of the sink, because he'd complained, "if you're just going to admire yourself all night, at least let me use the toothpaste." Jimmy ignores Robert's noisy routine of brushing and spitting, instead finding his own flaws as though he's using the Hubble telescope to look at himself.

Jimmy did hurdling in high school, which gave him a stream-lined, toned physique. Now, his body looks like something out of World War II internment camp footage. His chest never really decided whether or not it wanted to grow hair, so there's just a sparse cluster of fuzz against his pale skin that looks like someone glued pubic hair to his chest.

But his face is where it's all gone to hell. The slight puffiness under his eyes that once made him appear wry and youthful now just makes him look old. Crow's feet have begun to form at the corners of his eyes, and even his once-perfect teeth seem to have decayed just enough to render his smile a little less charming than it had been three years ago.

Jimmy sighs as Robert turns off the faucet. "What the fuck happened to me?" Jimmy asks no one in particular. "I don't ever remember looking this old and tired." He shakes his head and turns away from his reflection, grabbing the first t-shirt he sees in his bag.

It's quiet for a moment as Jimmy's pulling his shirt on, then Robert says, in a quiet voice, aiming for casual: "I don't think you look that bad."

Jimmy snorts a laugh. "Oh yeah? You wanna fuck me, Sunflower?" It's meant as a joke, good-natured ribbing between friends, but Jimmy, anticipating an angry denial or awkward back-pedaling, is a little stunned by the silence that follows. Robert is suspiciously quiet and fidgety until he notices Jimmy's watching him. Then he just ducks out of the bathroom, like putting physical distance between himself and the awkward moment will negate the entire thing.

"Well, get in line, 'cause life's not done fucking me yet," Jimmy calls, because isn't it just his luck that Robert's potential attraction to him doesn't really bother him as much as it probably should. Actually, in some deep, dark place he doesn't want anyone to touch, Jimmy's flattered.

Neither of them speak again until Jimmy switches off the bathroom light and crawls into the empty bed. In the darkness, he can see Robert: a blanket-encased hump in the next bed. Jimmy turns onto his side, facing away from Robert. He feels a mattress spring poking him beneath the ribs, but his brain's a million miles away, imagining what it might be like to be on a date with Robert. He wonders if he would hold Robert's hand, if he would be too afraid to lean against him.

"Do you really think about me like that?" Jimmy asks into the quiet.

Robert doesn't answer, but Jimmy knows he's not asleep.

* * *

Jimmy awakens a bit earlier than usual, and Robert's already up, of course, watching television while he eats a makeshift breakfast of candy bars and bottled water. Jimmy sits up, drags a hand through his hair. "Morning, Pagey!" Robert greets him through a mouthful of chocolate.

Jimmy makes a noise of acknowledgement and slinks into the bathroom for his morning routine. He isn't sure what to say to Robert or if he ought to mention last night at all. Maybe it's best to pretend it never happened. Robert doesn't seem to be worried about it.

When Jimmy's finished and dressed for the day, he playfully steals a package of Sno Balls from Robert's snack stash. "You wanna stay for a while or keep moving?" he says before biting into one of the pastries.

"We can keep going. I wanna see what else is out there."

"Fair enough. It should take us about three hours to get to Houston."

"You think maybe I could drive?"

Jimmy wipes pink coconut flakes away from the corner of his mouth. "Remember, Robert, in the US we drive on the  _other_  side of the road."

Robert rolls his eyes. "Very funny. I'll have you know I drive perfectly well here and across the pond."

"Your scar says otherwise."

"That's not my fault; I wasn't driving."

Jimmy thinks this over. His van is a '72 Ford Econoline, hardly the coolest or newest vehicle on the road, but it's one of the few things he owns outright. "Eh, what the hell. Sure, you can drive. Just follow the signs."

Robert smiles in a way that makes it hard to hate him for anything.

When they're packed and loaded into the van, Robert does a surprisingly decent job of getting them onto the interstate. Jimmy relaxes a little in the passenger seat. The floor is strewn with empty soda cans, snack wrappers, and gas receipts. The ashtray is filled with bent cigarette butts. Jimmy makes a mental note to clean out the van at the next rest stop.

"So, um, about last night... What you said..."

Robert chuckles and waves a dismissive hand. "Forget about it, Pagey. It came out wrong, is all."

Jimmy's not sure how he feels about that. Is he relieved? Disappointed? A mix of both? "How come you didn't just say that?"

"There's some things you can't deny without sounding like a liar."

Jimmy decides to just take it on faith that Robert isn't lying now.

Once they're on the stretch of highway leading out of San Antonio, Robert guns the engine and sends them flying down the long black road. Jimmy stomps the imaginary brake pedal on his side of the car. "Jesus, you wanna slow it down a bit, Speed Racer? I don't know how they do things over in England, but here we have something called a speed limit."

Robert laughs, which isn't a particularly comforting response. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

"Famous last words," Jimmy mutters to himself. He glances out the window at the desolate Texas countryside whipping by. Robert steps on the gas, and they rocket down the road as "Born To Be Wild" blasts through the speakers.

* * *

They visit the Houston Galleria, and Robert makes Jimmy skate with him at the ice rink. Jimmy hasn't skated in years, not since his high school parties at the roller rink, but it comes back fast. Robert's not as uncoordinated on skates as Jimmy expected, but he still falls down a lot and laughs each time. Jimmy shivers in his Grateful Dead t-shirt, while Robert doesn't seem to mind the pinch of cold. Must be a British thing.

They're skating underneath the skylights to a soundtrack of awful disco music and soft pop. Robert's skin practically glows on the ice, his piles of blond curls swaying as he moves, and Jimmy feels a stir in his blood.

"I guess this isn't your first time skating, huh?" Jimmy asks.

"There was a lake 'round where I lived back home, and when it would freeze over my mates and I would go skating on the ice. I was never very good, though, and it's been a while," Robert explains, like he thinks Jimmy's judging him for falling down five times.

Jimmy slows down a bit so Robert can keep up. Out of the corner of his eye, he studies Robert's face, the angle of his nose, the way his chin kind of looks like an ass, his bright and hopeful eyes. Jimmy doesn't know if he's so happy to have a genuine friend that he's confusing camaraderie for something else, or if he's just lonely and desperate and his sexual incompetence gives him somewhat of an excuse to consider this. Because if he can't perform, these yearnings he's been having can't possibly be sexual, right?

Then what the hell does he feel toward Robert?

When Robert falls down again, Jimmy uses it as an excuse to hold his hand.

* * *

There's a baseball game the next day at the Astrodome, so Jimmy decides to enlighten Robert on the great all-American pastime. The stadium's halfway filled with about 20,000 people, which means they get a sizeable amount of space to themselves. Jimmy kicks his feet up on the empty seat in front of him and watches Robert more than he pays attention to what happening on the field.

"I can't believe you've never been to a baseball game," Jimmy says during the third inning while the score is tied.

"I've only been in the States six months," Robert argues. He steals a sip of Jimmy's beer, except it's not really stealing because they agreed to share to cut costs. It's only now Jimmy realizes that could be considered a couple-like thing to do, and he's suddenly paranoid about what it might mean.

"And yet it took you this long to see a baseball game and watch Star Wars." Jimmy sighs as though dealing with Robert is a terrible inconvenience. "It's like you're not even trying to assimilate to American culture, you dirty Brit." He shoots Robert a smirk to make it clear that's a joke.

"At least  _you Americans_  appreciate my accent," Robert shoots back cordially before biting into his second hot dog. "I've been told it's sexy and makes me sound intelligent."

Jimmy snickers.

"You're just jealous because this is how words sound when they're pronounced properly."

"I don't think you can claim any intellectual high ground when you're talking with your mouth full."

Robert glares at him and chews angrily, if that's even a thing. When he can talk again, he says, "You're still on edge from withdrawl, huh?"

"No, I'm just giving you shit," Jimmy laughs. It's kind of adorable that Robert hasn't yet learned Jimmy's personality is comprised of sarcasm and verbal jabs at his friends. "I've been doing that since we met." It takes Jimmy a moment to understand he's basically been low-key flirting with Robert for almost half a year, like he's reverted back to an awkward teenager teasing the girl he likes.

"Is that how you make friends? No wonder you don't have that many."

Jimmy stares forlornly into his beer, instantly depressed. He never really thought about it that way, how his nonchalant attitude and acerbic humor could be a shield to prevent anyone from looking at him too closely. He knows at his core he's too fucked up to be worth it, but God help him if anyone else finds out.

Robert leans over to catch a glimpse of Jimmy's expression. "Hey, Pagey, I—I didn't mean it that way. I was just—I'm no good at this friendly fire thing," he says with a nervous laugh.

"No, you're probably right. I'm an asshole."

"I don't know about that. You can be quite charming when you want to be. I've seen you flirt with some of the girls who came 'round the shop."

"I just wanted to get them into bed."

Robert rolls his eyes like Jimmy's missed the point entirely. "What are you trying to prove? That you're a horrible person? Because you're wrong. I wouldn't be here if you were awful and cruel. I think you just pretend to be, for whatever reason."

Jimmy lifts an eyebrow. He hadn't expected Robert to be so intuitive. "Oh yeah? And what reason would that be?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea," Robert says, and Jimmy smiles at his pronunciation of the last word, the way he adds an unnecessary 'r.' "I'm not a bloody shrink."

"Then don't psychoanalyze me," Jimmy teases, but he wonders if he even knows himself at all.


	5. Temptation Eyes

Robert's eating a barbecue sandwich as Jimmy drives them out of Houston. His fingers are slathered in tangy red sauce, the foam container balanced on his thighs as he pops pieces of fried okra into his mouth. Robert reaches out to crank up the Blue Öyster Cult flowing through the speakers, but Jimmy smacks his hand away. "Not with those hands, you dirty Brit."

Robert forgoes napkins and sucks the sauce off each finger, one by one. Jimmy swallows thickly and grips the steering wheel a little tighter. The skin of his face goes hot and prickly like a sunburn. Robert licks his lips, his tongue darting out to catch a smear of barbecue sauce at the corner of his mouth, and Jimmy feels an insistent tightening in his crotch. He draws in a deep breath, utterly disgusted with himself, and turns up the music, stepping harder on the gas as though he can outrun his thoughts and the way his body's betraying him.

After they cross the state line into Louisiana, Jimmy tries to steer the conversation away from Robert's unnatural fondness for ABBA and more toward whatever led him to join Jimmy on this poor life decision. "What are you running from? People don't go on aimless, cross-country roadtrips because they've got nothing better to do on a Sunday."

"I told you, I'm a criminal."

"You know I get all tingly when you say that."

Robert's mouth momentarily twitches into a smile.

"C'mon, spill. I'm too curious to let this go."

Robert shakes his head, staring out the window. "I can't tell you."

"Too bad, Sunflower. Can't put that genie back in the bottle."

Robert exhales a deep sigh, and Jimmy wonders what he's thinking. He doesn't know why he keeps pushing this, if he'll regret the answer he gets. But Robert never responds to these kind of inquiries with anger, just sadness, and hell if that doesn't raise Jimmy's curiosity even more.

"Look, I can't tell you. It's for your own good," Robert says.

"You're talking to a guy who chain-smokes and used to snort coke on weekends. I don't do anything for my own good." He mulls that one over. "Unless... You're an addict, too? And this is your way of 'protecting' me from getting into whatever you're trying to kick?"

Robert doesn't answer, but his face doesn't give anything away either.

Jimmy tries again. "Okay, let's start a little more simple. Your girl left you?"

Robert huffs a quiet noise of amusement, and that's a decent enough springboard.

"Am I close?"

"Not really."

"Fuck," Jimmy groans, dragging out the word. Robert shifts in his seat, crosses one leg over the other. "Would you just tell me, please, before I go out of my fucking mind? It's probably not even that bad. Christ, you'd call yourself a murderer if you accidentally ran over a squirrel or something."

Robert sulks in shame, still watching the Louisiana marshlands roll by outside the window. Jimmy's about to give up entirely when Robert turns off the radio and murmurs, "If I tell you, you promise to wait 'til we find a rest stop before throwing me out of the van?"

"A little melodramatic there, aren't you?"

"You'd be surprised how people react. Or maybe not."

"Alright, yes, fine, I promise not to throw you out. Now tell me. My nipples are already hard with anticipation."

Robert looks at him, shakes his head. There's a charged moment of silence, and Jimmy waits to hear what it is Robert's going to say. "I'm gay. I'm attracted to men. I love cock. I'm a giant fairy. Pick whichever phrasing you prefer."

Jimmy's mouth drops open, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He feels the planet spinning beneath him, or maybe that's just the highway flying by at sixty miles an hour. "Wow." He pauses, thinking there might be more to this story, but Robert doesn't say anything else. "So how does that make you a criminal? I mean, did you—" Jimmy stops. "Oh, fuck you. All of this was just some semantics bullshit? Try stealing two hundred bucks from a locked safe, then you can call yourself a criminal."

Robert's eyes widen in disbelief. "You stole money? When?"

"After Grant fired me. C'mon, you didn't really buy that 'oh, just let me use the bathroom' thing, did you?"

"I can't believe you!" Robert says, sounding scandalized. "All this time you've been using stolen money?"

"Yeah, I figured he owed us a vacation. The Death Star isn't really known for its severance pay." Jimmy stares straight ahead at the road, but he can feel Robert's horrified gaze boring into him. "Now, c'mon, don't you feel better about your penis-shaped problem?"

"You stole money," Robert says, like it means something. "You could go to prison!"

"Grant's not going to let Cole know somebody managed to swipe two hundred dollars from under his nose on his first day as manager. Trust me, he's just gonna pony up the cash out of pocket. Besides, what was all that crap about capitalism and how it's one big lie sold to the masses? Just look at this as a small victory against The Man."

"Are all Americans this"—Robert searches for the word—"crooked?"

"I am not a crook," Jimmy says, doing his best Nixon impersonation. "Ah, that's wasted on you; you don't even know what Watergate is."

"Yes, I do," Robert shoots back. He folds his arms over his chest and gives Jimmy a disapproving look. "Crook."

"Homo. Which, by the way, not the same thing. If you say you're a criminal, you better have a good fucking story to tell."

"I can't believe you're upset because my life history doesn't have as much violence and intrigue as The Godfather."

"I could be upset that you're a big queen."

Robert hesitates. "Are you?"

Jimmy's not entirely sure how he feels about it. "It's not really any of my business, is it? When did you discover you were..."

"I always knew, I guess, but I only ever acted on it when I was sixteen. There was a boy in my class who fancied me—"

"You are not sounding any less gay by using words like 'fancied,' just so you know."

Robert gives him a sour look.

"Sorry, keep going."

"There isn't much to tell. My father kicked me out of the house when he learned about it."

"Does this have anything to do with why you moved to the States?"

"In a way. I thought... I dunno, maybe I could leave it behind, start over, y'know?"

Isn't that what Jimmy's trying to do here, burn away who he is and discover something better? "I don't think that's something you can outrun, Sunflower. It's a part of you."

Robert sighs, his elbow perched on the windowsill, his head leaning on the heel of his hand. "I'm starting to realize that."

Jimmy's not self-absorbed enough to think Robert might have a crush on him. Well, he is, but he's seen himself in the mirror. He's a realist. Maybe if Robert had met him two years ago when Jimmy could effortlessly turn the heads of both sexes, but now he's too busted to be worth it. And there's nothing redeeming about him as a person, so what could Robert possibly be attracted to?

When the next rest stop rolls around Jimmy zooms right by it, and he thinks he sees a smile at the corner of Robert's mouth.

* * *

They arrive in New Orleans at twilight, when the sky is blue and pink and purple. Jimmy takes Robert into a quaint little restaurant on a street corner in the French Quarter, and they play chess with the orgy of food spread out across the table. The restaurant is filled, but neither of them divert their attention from the other, too caught up in conversation to worry what it might mean that they can't stop.

"Y'know, there's a lot of drag queens in New Orleans," Jimmy says, trying to be well-meaning and helpful. "You could, uh, get in on some of that action if you want."

Robert stays silent.

"Okay, maybe not. Hey, I'm sure there's some guys around here that'll appreciate your pretty mouth."

This time Robert's face flushes hot, and he stammers out, "Uh, no thanks, Pagey, I—Thanks, though."

"Hey, I'm just trying to help you get laid, man. Friends help friends, right?"

"Well, okay, maybe I could help you."

Jimmy scoffs. "I don't need any help scoring world-class 'tang, alright?"

Robert makes a face and just sort of stares at him. "Then how come you haven't tried to pick up any chicks since we started this trip?"

"What's your point, Sunflower?"

"Maybe you do need some help."

"Fuck you very much," Jimmy laughs. "And somehow I doubt you'd be the best wingman, considering your  _situation_."

Robert looks shamed, and Jimmy feels like an asshole. Maybe having something embarrassing on Jimmy will make Robert feel better about liking cock. Jimmy heaves a sigh and leans in. "Alright, you wanna know why I haven't bothered trying to get laid?" Robert sets his spoon down with great ceremony, as though Jimmy's about to bestow upon him an important secret. "It's because my dick's dead," Jimmy hisses across the table.

"What?"

"You're gonna make me say something like that twice?"

"No, I heard you, I just—Dead?"

"Yeah, it's... It's like an anti-boner."

"So you can't have a wank or anything?"

"What's the point? Nothing gets me going." Except that's a lie, because sometimes Robert will do something cute, or Jimmy will catch a glimpse of his body at a certain angle or light, and Jimmy's dick will, uh, rise to the occasion.

"So you're just ignoring those morning erections you've been having?"

Jimmy sort of chokes, because that's definitely not what he was expecting to hear. He decides righteous indignation is the way to go. "Oh, of course you've been looking, you pervert."

"Hard not to," Robert says, breaking out into a bit of a smirk at the wording. "It's quite... prominent."

Jimmy makes a noise of disgust and looks away.

"That was a compliment!" Robert protests.

"Not from where I'm sitting."

Robert's brow creases in pain. "It really bothers you, doesn't it?" he asks, sounding saddened.

"Of fucking course it does," Jimmy snaps without really thinking about it. Robert's expression crumples, and Jimmy realizes in horror that he's misunderstood. "We're not talking about my dick anymore, are we?" he says at precisely the wrong moment as the waitress wanders up to drop off the check. "Oh, no, we're not—" Jimmy tries to tell her, but stops when he remembers there's some things you can't deny without sounding like a liar. He lets it go, tries to salvage his fuck-up with Robert instead.

"Robert, you know I didn't mean it like that." It's one of the few times he's called Robert by his name, a calculated attempt to distract him. "I don't care that you're gay."

"But you don't want anyone thinking you are."

"That's not—" Jimmy exhales a long breath, because that's a little too close to home. But Robert's the one trying to run away from his sexual identity, so where the fuck does he get off criticizing Jimmy for flinching away from his own? He doesn't know how to untangle himself from the snarled web this conversation's become, so he says nothing.

When they slide into the van, there's a pointed moment of silence before Robert says, "Hm, I think I was wrong. Maybe it's not an act; maybe you really are just an arsehole." Jimmy looks at him, and it's like watching helplessly as your house goes up in flames, burning the enormity of possibility along with it.

"I—I'm sorry," Jimmy says lamely, but there's no apology large enough for how deeply he's hurt Robert here. He doesn't know how to make things right again, if it's even possible.

He finds them a decent motel and doesn't bother asking Robert for his half of the money, just pays it himself. Part of him wonders why Robert's still here, but Jimmy figures he's sticking around only because he doesn't really have any other options. Though Robert could sneak out and hop a train, let it carry him far, far away. The thought of waking up alone terrifies Jimmy, and he racks his brain for ideas of how to make Robert stay, how to mend this tension between them.

Robert sets his bags by the bed closest to the window. As if plucking the thought from Jimmy's head, he says, "I think I'll go my own way in the morning."

Fear grips Jimmy's heart. "C'mon, don't—don't be like that. Let's just go to sleep and start over tomorrow. I promise I won't be an asshole."

Robert shakes his head. "It's not about that, really. If you were the worst person I knew I'd be lucky."

"Then what? Give me a chance to fix it before you just leave." Jimmy doesn't notice how close he is to begging until his voice breaks.

"You can't fix it," Robert says, dropping onto the edge of the bed. Jimmy follows him there, as though drawn by a magnet. "Doing this with you was a mistake."

"If I had a nickel for every time I've heard that," Jimmy says, another attempt at humor.

Robert cracks a small smile, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "Stop it."

"Okay, no more jokes."

"No, you just... I already like you more than I should," Robert admits, wringing his hands. The air streams out of Jimmy's lungs like a quickly deflating balloon. His mouth drops open, and Robert misreads his expression. "It's—it's okay. You don't have to—I know that you don't—won't... It's okay. But I don't think I can handle just being friends, and the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable, so that's why it's best that I leave."

The amazing thing about Robert is that he's seen the grimy underbelly of Jimmy's moods yet still deemed him acceptable, and Jimmy knows enough to know you don't throw that away. It's incredible, he thinks, how strange and unexpected love can be, and something warm spreads through Jimmy's chest. He looks at Robert, and he's stricken with the urge to kiss his mouth, to run away with him and from him all at the same time.

This is pretty much an opening if he's ever seen one, so Jimmy does the only thing he can think to do and covers Robert's mouth with his own. Robert gasps around the kiss, and Jimmy raises a quivering hand to his face to bring him closer. There's a trembling in his chest that spurs him to keep going. Jimmy hears their kisses in his ears and feels a pain in his crotch, and he groans, "Shit," against Robert's lips, breaking away for a moment so he can breathe, because suddenly there's not enough oxygen in the room.

Robert doesn't say anything, but he looks like he wants to. Jimmy feels his traitorous dick tenting furiously in his jeans. Maybe this is what his body wants, regardless of what's right or wrong. Maybe this is how it's supposed to be, and Jimmy needs to fucking deal.

"I don't—I don't know why I did that," Jimmy says, careful, because the wrong words could destroy everything here. "I don't know why I liked it, why I want to do it again. Because that's not me, that's not what I do—" This isn't coming out right. He stops, starts over. "I don't want you to leave."

"And I don't want you to get me to stay by pretending you give a shit about me," Robert snaps.

"I'm not pretending." Jimmy wishes it hadn't come to this, but Robert's forced his hand. "Look, last time I had a woman, she had her hand around my dick and I didn't feel a damn thing. But kissing you—fuck, sometimes even just looking at you—makes me harder than I've ever been. Maybe my body's trying to tell me something my brain hasn't figured out yet."

"That you like blokes?"

"That I like you." That's about as honest as it gets, and there's no way to mistake that for anything else.

Robert blinks, looking wide-eyed and innocent and ten years younger somehow. Jimmy can't fight the urge to kiss him again. He's never felt desire like this, like something that hurts. Robert's mouth eases into its role, opening and closing in time with Jimmy's own. His tongue finds its way between Jimmy's lips. Jimmy grows impossibly hard, and when Robert moans into Jimmy's mouth the room tilts on its axis.

"I've always wondered what it'd be like to kiss you," Robert murmurs when they break away, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip.

Jimmy doesn't know how the fuck to deal with that. "Oh yeah? Was it everything you imagined?"

"Better. It's real."

That's about the sweetest goddamn thing Jimmy's ever heard, and he leans in and captures Robert's mouth again. It's getting easier each time, feeling less and less impossible that he should be allowed to do this. Jimmy's hand pushes underneath the mop of Robert's hair, settles on the back of his neck. It feels like it belongs there, and the ease with which Jimmy touches him encourages Robert to lay a hand on Jimmy's hip. The simple touch ignites something long dormant inside of Jimmy, and he kisses harder, his fingers dragging over skin.

He's kissing a man. There's a lot of things Jimmy never imagined he'd do again in his life, and this is one of them. The wide, strong hand sneaking its way underneath Jimmy's shirt is achingly familiar, and it's that thought that makes him pull away, feeling the void where Robert's mouth had been.

"You don't like it," Robert says, studying Jimmy's expression.

"I do. I just—" Jimmy reaches out and tucks a chunk of Robert's curls behind his ear. Robert smiles, shy, his cheeks flushed pink as his gaze drops away. "I want this. If you can be patient with me... I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Tentative, Robert slides his fingers into the spaces between Jimmy's own. Jimmy doesn't pull away. "Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?" Robert asks, slightly coy.

"Yeah, I guess I am." Jimmy's eyes are drawn to the way Robert's mouth reacts to that. His lips fight a smile, then his teeth capture his bottom lip between them. Jimmy feels stirrings and urgings he'd almost given up having again.

"Alright, under one condition."

Jimmy holds his breath, waiting for Robert's stipulations.

"I want you to take me out on a date tomorrow."

He exhales in relief. "Shit, that'll be easy; we go out every day." It takes Jimmy a moment for the implications of that sentence to sink in. He thinks back to the diners, the restaurants, the theaters, the ice rink, the shopping mall... It's entirely possible Jimmy's been taking Robert on dates in five consecutive states. "Oh my God, have we been dating since we started this trip?"

"Well, hey, you already got some practice!" Robert says, because he's an optimist.

Jimmy studies the way Robert's fingers entwine perfectly with his own, admires the bracelets and rings adorning his hand. "Then I guess I'm just making things complicated."

"What's less complicated than two people who want to be together?"

A hell of a lot, Jimmy thinks, but he doesn't say that, because he isn't the type people take chances on. If Robert's deemed him acceptable, then society be damned. It's not like Jimmy's had much use for it anyway.

When night falls and they're freshly showered, they're lying in separate beds, and Jimmy feels the distance between them like pinpricks on his skin. He wants to be nearer, wants to try that kind of intimacy, but he doesn't know how Robert will interpret it, if Robert will try to turn it into something more.

He should ask, and he should do it now before he talks himself out of it.

"Sunflower?"

Jimmy hears the shift of sheets in the quiet, then Robert's voice: "Yeah?"

"How do you feel about me gettin' in there with you?"

"Well, I 'ave to warn you: I'm a cuddler."

He takes that as permission to crawl out of his bed and slide into Robert's own. The sheets are warm from Robert's body heat. Jimmy lets Robert's limbs tangle around him: an arm curled around his waist, a knee pushed between his thighs like it belongs there. He can feel Robert's hot breath in his hair, against the back of his neck. Robert molds to the curve of Jimmy's back, his erection pressed against Jimmy's ass in a way that's impossible not to notice. Jimmy's own cock stiffens, because  _of course_  it does.

Jimmy doesn't have a lot of experience being the Little Spoon, especially when he's used to ample, naked breasts pressed against his back instead of a firm, flat chest. But he likes being held, at least for tonight in this dingy New Orleans motel where he can still hear the faint bustle of excitement outside its walls.

Robert's voice is quiet at his ear. "Is this okay?"

"'S perfect," Jimmy murmurs into the pillow.


	6. City of New Orleans

Jimmy wakes up to the sensation of soft kisses along the line of his neck. Robert's arms are still tangled around him, his dick hard against Jimmy's ass, though Jimmy's attributing that to morning wood and nothing else. He keeps still, curious if Robert will take this further. But Robert's hands stay chaste, his mouth venturing only to the bare curve of Jimmy's shoulder where his t-shirt has slipped.

Jimmy makes a noise in his throat, and Robert freezes, his affection ceasing. "Pagey?" he whispers, as though he fears Jimmy might roar awake like a bear if roused.

Jimmy makes another noise; he's pretty much incapable of words first thing in the morning, just monosyllabic grunts.

"You're awake?"

"Mhmm." Through his sleep-murky vision, the clock on the bedside table reads 8:37 a.m. No wonder he feels so hungover.

"'M sorry if I woke you," Robert apologizes. His fingers tease at the edge of Jimmy's shirt where it's pushed over his hip. "I just had to make sure this was real."

"Sounds like you dream about this a lot," Jimmy says, half-slurred. He's almost certain Robert's blushing behind him.

"N—no, I just—It seems too good to be true, is all."

"So you've never dreamed about me?"

"Um..."

Jimmy wonders what he's done in Robert's dreams, what Robert's done to him. "Chill, Sunflower. I'm flattered."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Jimmy says, with fondness. He covers Robert's hand with his own, caressing the joints of his fingers. Robert kisses the slope of Jimmy's neck, the heat of his breath fogging over his skin.

Jimmy stretches his legs and says, "You want breakfast?"

* * *

Robert's wearing a pair of jeans that might as well be painted on his skin, because his thighs, ass, and crotch are impossible not to stare at, especially when he's got iron-on patches slapped on some of the most, uh, admirable parts of his lower anatomy. There's a peace symbol on one ass cheek, a British flag on the other, and, the  _coup de grace_ : a patch that reads "Kiss me! You'll love it" right on his crotch. Jimmy, a little slow this early in the morning, asks, "Shouldn't that one be on your ass?"

"No," Robert says with a mischievous smile, and the cigarette dangling from Jimmy's lips drops to the concrete.

Jimmy introduces Robert to coffee at Café du Monde after Robert bemoans the lack of tea on the menu. "What kind of café doesn't serve tea?" Robert whines.

"What kind of American doesn't drink coffee?"

"I'm not an American," Robert corrects, sounding snooty.

"Well, you live here now, so assimilate already."

"You're really pushy," Robert says before taking a sip of his coffee. He makes a contented noise around the rim of the mug, and Jimmy smiles to himself. "Mm, it tastes like chocolate."

It's customary for first-time visitors to blow the powdered sugar off a beignet and make a wish, so when their plate of deep-fried pastries arrives Robert gleefully puffs at the mound of snowy white, covering the front of Jimmy's black t-shirt in sugary flecks. "Oops."

"Hey, it's not the first time I've been covered in white powder," Jimmy says with a grin, and Robert laughs an angel's laugh.

"On second thought, maybe you shouldn't have any of these." Robert wraps a shielding arm around the plate and edges it closer to his side of the table.

"Too late." Jimmy snatches a piping-hot, powder-topped pastry from the plate. "I wanna make a wish. What'd you wish for?"

"You're not s'posed to say, otherwise it won't come true."

Jimmy tries to imagine what Robert might have wished for, if it involves him:  _I wish my boyfriend would take that stick out of his ass, otherwise there's no room for me._ "Let me guess: world peace? Or, no, wait, legalization of marijuana? Or something outdated and painfully hippie."

"There's nothing outdated about peace and love, Pagey."

"Have you looked around you lately? The world's going to shit. And it always will be, because corporations can't turn a profit when people are happy. They have to keep us scared and insecure and depressed so we buy their crap."

"Is that why you turned to drugs?" Robert says, and the question knocks Jimmy askew.

"What makes you think I'm not happy?"

"Happy people generally don't snort coke. And you have sad eyes."

"You don't think they're beautiful?" Jimmy teases, comically batting his eyelashes, because there's no sincere moment he won't diminish or pervert through wisecracks and evasion.

"No reason they can't be both," Robert says. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Alright, yeah, you're right. I wasn't happy."

Robert blinks. "Wasn't? So you're happy now?"

Jimmy sighs, lifts the sugar-stacked pastry to his mouth. "I wish Robert would stop annoying me," he muses to the sky, a playful smile at the corner of his lips.

"Don't waste it! You've got to wish for something meaningful."

Jimmy's tempted to roll his eyes, but he figures since he's on a date he ought to humor Robert. He closes his eyes, makes a wish, and blows.

* * *

There are all sorts of street performers convened in Jackson Square. It's muggy outside, the air stewed thick like gumbo, and Robert complains about the humidity as they cruise the walkways. He flips coins into the jars of the musicians and performers they pass by, and Jimmy pretends not to notice, but he smiles every time he looks at Robert, warmed by his generosity and loving spirit.

A dark-haired girl in a long, flowy dress and beaded necklaces greets them with eager eyes and a pleasant smile. "Would you boys like a reading?" she says, holding a deck of worn Tarot cards.

Jimmy figures, what the hell, he's down, so they sit on opposite sides of her, underneath the shade of the trees. "What's your name, sugar?" she asks as she gathers the cards.

"Jimmy."

"Nice to meet you, Jimmy. I'm Lori." She looks at Robert. "What about you, honey?"

"Robert."

"Oh, an English boy?"

Robert's cheeks flush pink, though that might be due to the heat. "I haven't been a boy in many years."

Lori gives him a flirtatious smirk before turning her attention back to Jimmy. "Have you ever had a Tarot reading before?"

"I'm familiar."

"Then you know you gotta relax if you want the cards to work right," she says, sort of scolding, which Jimmy finds amusing because she's probably half his age. "Your aura's pretty tense." She hands him the deck, tells him to shuffle until he believes they're finished. Jimmy closes his eyes and concentrates on rearranging the cards. When he's done, he sets the deck between them, and Lori takes her time spreading out the cards.

Lori turns over the first card in the center of the spread. "This is your current position," she says, watching Jimmy's face. "The Tower represents sudden, disruptive, or destructive change. It could represent a person or an event in your life, maybe a relationship that didn't work out, or the loss of a job."

Robert gives Jimmy an eager look, and Jimmy gets a sinking feeling in his gut.

Lori flips the next card. "These are the energies that cross you. Two of Cups represents partners, companions, lovers... It's about a bond between two people. Maybe you need to make a connection, call a truce, or acknowledge an attraction." She fixes him with a knowing look. "Is there someone special in your life, Jimmy?"

"Depends who's asking," he says, playing coy, but he can't stop his gaze from momentarily flicking toward Robert, who's wearing the goofiest grin on his face.

Lori turns over the next card to reveal the Hermit. "This is the basis of your situation. The Hermit represents solitude and wisdom, 'cause he chooses to be alone to find out about himself and what goes on in his own mind. What he discovers in his solitude gains more meaning when he shares it with others. The card is reversed, so that could mean your solitude is based on concealment or fear, or that you disguise yourself or your intentions."

Lori turns over the next card, directly to the left of the first two. "This is what's behind you. The Ace of Pentacles symbolizes a beginning, something new being offered, usually a source of money coming, or it can indicate new opportunities. It's reversed as well, which can represent the evil side of wealth."

Robert snickers, looking chagrined when Lori gives him a curious look. "'M sorry, it's just—this is all very accurate."

Jimmy feels the stolen money in his pockets more than ever now.

"This is what's on your mind," Lori's saying as she turns over the next card, "or what you think of your current situation. The Page of Wands means many things—adventure, ambition, new beginnings. It's a messenger card, so it's likely you'll receive some important news. You may feel overwhelmed with possibilities, but if you choose, you will prosper. Wait no longer."

"Hey, my last name is Page. Do I get bonus points?" Jimmy asks with a smirk.

"No points," Lori says, "but that card might have special significance to you." She turns over the next card. "This is what's about to happen, or the unresolved factor. The King of Cups represents a person, someone you know or someone you're going to meet. The King of Cups is someone who's all heart, someone who has the nuturing energy of water from the Cups suit and a king's loyalty and focus. He's very compassionate, tolerant, and patient. He's an original thinker, and he doesn't care much about conformity."

 _Sound familiar?_  Jimmy shoots a quick glance at Robert, seeing all of those qualities in him, before Lori continues. "Since the King of Cups is in the current or future position, this person is either about to make an important appearance in your life, or he's already appeared and is relevant to what's on your mind."

Lori flips the next card. "This is what you fear, or how you see yourself. The Tarot Devil doesn't necessarily represent evil things. It's about temptation and satisfaction, challenging one's inhibitions, rebelling against prejudice. It can represent ignorance, hopelessness, materialism, bondage."

Jimmy grins. "Hey now."

"Not that type of bondage, you dirty boy," Lori chides, but her smile says she probably wouldn't mind partaking in it with Jimmy. Jimmy considers that, imagines her naked and bound for him, but the thought doesn't excite him the way it would have months ago. "This card asks the question: do you fall for your temptation? And, if not, do you have the strength to resist it?"

Jimmy already knows he doesn't.

"From the cards that have turned up in your reading, I'm getting the impression that the Devil card here represents a person, someone who tempts you in some way, someone who challenges who you think you are. Maybe getting involved with this person would mean committing infidelity or challenging societal norms."

Jimmy's acutely aware of the way his sweat's making his shirt stick to his skin. It's like Lori knows, even through his flirtations with her, that he feels things for Robert, things he's not sure he's supposed to feel.

"This is what other people think about your situation," Lori says as she reveals the next card. "The Two of Swords symbolizes the barriers we put up between ourselves and others. I'm guessing the important people in your life think you're emotionally distant or that you close yourself off? Or maybe you need to be honest about how you're really feeling?"

Jimmy swallows thickly.

"Wow, you're really good at this," Robert tells her with a grin. "Can I go next?"

She gives him a sweet smile. "Sure thing, sugar. Just two more cards and I'll be happy to give you a reading." Lori turns over the next card. "This is what you wish for. The Lovers. This card represents relationships forged by deep love, but it can also stand for a moral or ethical crossroads. It's about relating to others, being sexual, establishing your beliefs and finding out what you care about. I think your fear of who or what the Devil card represents is preventing you from finding this," she says, tapping the Lovers card with a pearly fingernail. "And since the Hermit card came up, it might be harder for you to get there because of your solitary nature or not relating to others.

"But let's look at your last card: your outcome, the solution to your problem." Lori flips the final card. "The Fool represents the idea that life is good and worthy of trust. It stands for beginnings, being spontaneous, having faith, and embracing yourself. The problem you're facing may be solved by being true to yourself and trusting your heart's desires."

Jimmy smiles. "This was all very enlightening. Thank you."

Robert sort of nudges Jimmy aside, eager for his own reading. "What do you think, Pagey? Isn't that dead-on?"

"Let's see what yours says."

Robert's reading is just as eerily accurate as Jimmy's own. His first card is the Hierophant, reversed, which indicates he's worried about belonging to part of a group and conforming to conventions. Interestingly enough, his second card is also the Two of Cups, so whatever affection he feels for Jimmy is putting him at odds with his low-level desire to fit in with society. His third card, another interesting coincidence, is the Fool, which means he embodies the free-spirit, anything-goes characteristics of the card. His fourth card, representing his past, is the Five of Pentacles: rejection or lack of acceptance. Jimmy remembers how Robert told him about his parents kicking him out, wonders if that was just one of the many misfortunes Robert's suffered.

Robert's fifth card signifies what's on his mind, and it's the Lovers. His sixth card, representing the future, is the World: fulfillment, happiness, wholeness. Seventh is how Robert sees himself, his own personal fears, and the card is Nine of Swords, embodying worry, guilt, and anguish. Jimmy wonders how Robert, a human ray of sunshine, could possibly have room in his heart for despair. His eighth card is the Star, signifying how people perceive Robert: hope, inspiration, generosity, sincerity. Ninth comes what Robert longs for, which is the Two of Wands, representing taking risks, speaking one's mind, showing originality. Finally, Robert's tenth card reveals Six of Cups, standing for good will, enjoying innocence, and indulging in being carefree, playful, secure, and loved.

Robert raves about how accurate the reading is, and Lori responds with affection and benevolent smiles. Jimmy realizes this is why people like Robert so much: he makes people delirious. No one's ever made Jimmy feel such a cavalcade of emotions as Robert does, and he's curious if everyone else feels that bursting supernova of delight when Robert smiles or talks to them.

"You think people see me like that?" Robert's asking as they near the Toulouse Street Wharf. "Y'know, the Star card? Inspiring and generous and whatnot."

"How could they not?" Jimmy says. He thinks a bit of personal honesty might be warranted here. "That's why I call you Sunflower. You were the brightest part of my day at the ol' Death Star. Sometimes you annoyed the hell outta me, but I always knew as long as you were there things wouldn't be so bad."

Robert chuckles, looking self-conscious. "Aww, Pagey... You were the best part of my day too."

"Gee, I wonder why?"

"Shut up," Robert says, good-naturedly, giving him a playful, half-assed shove.

The steamboat Natchez is docked at the wharf, which Jimmy discovers offers harbor cruises along the Mississippi River. "Your old boyfriend ever take you on a riverboat date?" Jimmy asks, his hand unconsciously finding the small of Robert's back while they walk, as though leading him along.

"Mm, that's one of the things we didn't get to do. Not a lot of water 'round Kidderminster, I'm afraid."

"So what did you do?"

"I thought it was bad form to talk about old flames on a date."

"Well, I asked, so go ahead."

They pay the fare and board the ship. Robert hesitates with an answer until they're on the main deck. "Um, just casual things, I suppose. Nothing too extraordinary. He wasn't keen on big romantic gestures, so we mostly just went to movies and concerts, things that wouldn't look too suspicious if you brought a mate 'round."

"Was he good to you?" Jimmy asks, because he wants to know what he's up against, if Robert still carries a torch for this guy.

Robert shrugs, his hands stuffed into his back pockets. "I don't know, really."

"How the hell can you not know?"

"Well, it's difficult to say. We were young, y'know, and he was—he was less comfortable with himself than I was. Who knows how he might have been down the line?"

"Sounds like you're making excuses."

"Look who's talking. You're a pioneer in sexual repression."

Jimmy opens his mouth to argue with that but decides against it. He knows where that conversation will go, and it's best just to cut it off at the pass.

"Anyway," Robert says, leaning against the railing and staring out at the murky river below. "Maybe if I'd met him later on in life, when we were free to think for ourselves..."

Jimmy has to ask the burning question that's been on the tip of his tongue. "Please tell me he's not dead."

Robert barks a laugh. "I don't know. Maybe. He was always a bit of a party animal."

Jimmy's surprised how relieved he is to hear that. "So what happened? Did he leave you?"

"After my parents found out, we kept seeing each other in secret. I asked him if he wanted to get a flat with me and we could live together. That's about as close to marriage as we could get," Robert says with a sad chuckle. "But he said no. He said if I hadn't come along at just the right time in his adolescence to push him the other way, he would've ended up meeting some girl who turned him on... He didn't want me anymore because I made him a freak."

"What a dick," Jimmy says after a moment of silence. He joins Robert in looking at the river, contemplates his own attitude. He doesn't want to be another sad story Robert tells some other man, one more heartbreak Robert shares and earns a sympathetic dismissal of all the repressed queers he seems to attract. "I'd like to kick his ass."

Robert laughs, and Jimmy's a little offended.

"What, you don't think I could take him?"

"You don't even know what he looks like. He could be a bloody body-builder, for all you know."

"Most people have a physical type they find appealing. Somehow, I doubt this guy's that buff if you find  _me_  attractive."

Robert looks like he's trying to come up with an answer for that one, but he gives up, instead asking, "Well, then what's your type?"

"Brits," Jimmy says with a smirk.

* * *

They eat lunch on the boat, and Robert takes this opportunity to subject Jimmy to endless questions. Jimmy obliges, because they're on a date, and he doesn't want to be rude by refusing Robert the chance to get to know him better.

"Since you asked me about my love life, it's only fair I ask you about yours," Robert says, slathering red beans and rice onto a biscuit. "Was there anyone special in your life before me?"

"I live a stone's throw away from Hollywood. Not really the best place to build lasting relationships."

"So you've always lived there, then?"

"Well, no. I grew up in Pasadena. But, I dunno, my high school and college years weren't really the harbors of first love like you see in the movies. I got laid a lot—and I mean  _a lot_ —but I was never in a serious, or even half-serious, relationship."

Robert pauses, biscuit halfway to his mouth. "Why's that?"

"It was never something I wanted. Not without trying, of course, but I just never connected with anyone on that level, y'know, where I wanted to settle down and start a family."

Robert chews that over, looking worried. "What about after uni? Did you—I mean, was there anyone you thought about that way?"

"No, just a steady stream of T and A."

Robert sighs. "In case you forgot: I'm gay. None of this bragging impresses me."

Jimmy forgets that just because Robert's a dude he's not going to appreciate the same kind of locker-room talk Jimmy's other friends do. He really needs to find other shit to talk about, especially if he wants Robert to think he's worth keeping around.

"I don't know what else to brag about," Jimmy says. "I'm sort of winging it here."

"So you've never thought about it before? Being with a bloke?"

"I didn't say that." Jimmy feels the heat spread across his cheeks. He can't exit this conversation, so he just shovels a forkful of jambalaya into his mouth, because if he keeps talking he's going to screw himself over.

Jimmy scans the dining room while Robert's busy stuffing his face. The other tables are filled with families and happy couples, and in a brief, uncharacteristic moment of epiphany, Jimmy realizes he could have that too. He could build a life with Robert if he just lets himself do it. There are better things to feel than this confused storm of homosexual panic and regret, and Robert's willing to show him each and every one of them.

"I do think about it, you know," Jimmy says after a moment, deciding honesty's really the best route here. "About being with you... that way."

Robert looks confused for a moment, but a shy smile spreads on his lips. "Yeah?"

"I told you: if you're patient, eventually you'll turn this lump of coal into a diamond."

"You're not a lump of coal. You're..." Robert searches for an apt metaphor. "You're a diamond in the rough."

"Aren't those the same thing?"

"No, not really," Robert says, his mouth full. "A lump of coal is something dingy and dreary that has to become something great. A diamond in the rough is already great, it's just got some blemishes. Nothing that can't be polished away."

"What if it's cracked or chipped?"

"Well, that gives it character. Honestly, Pagey, don't be difficult. You're putting more thought into this comparison than it deserves."

Jimmy spreads his hands. "I gotta be me."

"Maybe not all the time," Robert says, with love.

* * *

"Read 'em and weep," Jimmy says with a grin, spreading his cards across the table: four of a kind. His opponent, a man clad in a leather jacket, sags in defeat and looks at the bartender, indicating Jimmy's empty glass of whiskey. Poker games are just one in a handful of manipulative gambits Jimmy employs in bars for free drinks, and tonight has been a rousing success, because this will mark Jimmy's seventh win of the night.

After the Natchez docked, Jimmy pulled Robert into a dimly-lit, wood-paneled bar on Bourbon Street blaring Foghat from the jukebox. At some point, Jimmy spotted a group of bikers playing poker in a booth near the back of the joint, and he hopped off his barstool, sauntered over and asked, "Room for one more?" They underestimated him, of course, as most people do, which Jimmy absolutely used to his advantage. He sent the rest of the gang out the door with their proverbial tails between their legs, their worn leather billfolds emptier than they'd been when they walked in.

"You'd think it would get tiring winning all these pots," Jimmy says as the waitress brings him a glass filled with Jack Daniel's.

"It's getting pretty tiring hearing about it," Robert says. He's been sitting next to Jimmy ever since the booth cleared out enough for him to squeeze in and spectate.

The man tosses some money on the table and stands up. "I think I'll bow out of this little pissing contest."

"Good game, Frenchie. Next time, try not to suck," Jimmy says before taking a long swallow of whiskey. The man just glares daggers at him before walking away.

"You're a really mean drunk," Robert says, his brow creased in displeasure.

"I'm not drunk. I'm playful. Besides, I won us twenty bucks and seven free drinks." Jimmy digs a few bills out of his jeans' pocket. "Here, buy yourself somethin' nice."

"Maybe we should head back. It's already dark outside."

"Didn't know you were scared of the dark, Sunflower. Don't worry, I'll protect you," Jimmy says, slinging an arm around Robert's shoulders; Robert slithers out of the embrace a few seconds later.

The rest of the night passes by in an increasingly drunken haze. Jimmy remembers downing the two tequila shots a brunette at the bar ordered for him and Robert. He remembers filling the jukebox with change and playing all the aggressive, testosterone-laden rock songs he can find: "Detroit Rock City" by Kiss, "Stranglehold" by Ted Nugent, Iggy & The Stooges' "Search and Destroy," and "Roadhouse Blues" by The Doors. He remembers Robert hauling him out of the bar when the brunette came over and started making goo-goo eyes at him. He also remembers the way Robert held him steady as they walked back to the van, how Robert's hand felt resting on his back, how he'd leaned against him for balance.

Jimmy's surpassed his personal limit on tequila, and he feels a sting in his throat, a churn in his belly as Robert drives them back to the motel. "You're really sweet, y'know," Jimmy hears himself say, his head resting against the cool glass of the passenger side window. "Most people I know'd just leave me passed out on the floor."

Robert frowns, as though this distresses him. "Has that happened to you?"

"Lots'a times," Jimmy says with a laugh. "But you're different. You must really like me, Sunflower." He smiles to himself, and he can see his reflection in the window, hazy and distant.

"It's called being a decent human being, Pagey," Robert says, dismissive. Then: "But I do really dig you. A lot." He's probably banking on Jimmy not remembering any of this in the morning.

Jimmy feels his affection for Robert growing like a tumor, and he's drunk enough that all things are possible.

Robert helps Jimmy to the motel room and gets the door open for him. Jimmy's clinging onto Robert's shirt, more out of a need to be close than anything else. Once they're inside, Jimmy wraps his arms around Robert's waist, and Robert turns around to face him. Jimmy runs his lips down the side of Robert's jaw, and he's acutely aware of Robert's fingers underneath his t-shirt, rubbing the small of his back. Jimmy finds Robert's mouth, tongue slipping between his lips before the kiss even gets there. Robert tastes like cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and lemons.

Jimmy's hand ventures past Robert's belt, rubbing and grabbing at his crotch, feeling him hard and wanting there. Robert makes a noise into Jimmy's mouth, and Jimmy celebrates that reaction by squeezing him harder. "Pagey," Robert gasps around his lips, his body sort of shaking beneath Jimmy's eager hands. He slides his hands into the back pockets of Jimmy's jeans, squeezing his ass and making Jimmy groan and bite at Robert's bottom lip.

"Fuck," Jimmy breathes out. His stomach juices are roiling, and he knows what's coming next. "Just lemme—I'll b'right back." He steadies himself and stumbles into the cramped little motel bathroom. He manages to get the door shut before he drops in front of the toilet and vomits prolifically into the bowl.

Throwing up is never a pleasant experience, and it's even less enjoyable because Robert can probably hear him in here, and Jimmy just knows all the awful thoughts running through Robert's head right now. He tries to form an apology but instead vomits some more until the spastic convulsions have run their course.

When he's certain he's finished, he wipes his mouth with a piece of tissue and flushes the toilet. Jimmy slumps against the porcelain tub, exhausted and dehydrated. He hears Robert's timid voice from the other side of the door. "Pagey, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm awesome," he says, the words hiccuping in his throat. He finds his footing and brushes his teeth, guilt pouring in like the stream of the faucet water. What the hell is wrong with him? Why does he keep screwing this up? Robert is a once-in-a-lifetime score, someone who miraculously cares for him despite his laundry list of character defects. Jimmy had been warming up to the idea of being with him. He just needed a little push. But of course he took it too far, for reasons still unclear to him. It's like he's got an instinct to sabotage himself when things start going well. Maybe the reason Jimmy doesn't have nice things is because he never lets himself have them.

Once his breath is minty-fresh, he shuts off the water. Robert knocks on the door and edges his way inside. "Oh Pagey..." he sighs, like Jimmy's a pathetic animal caught in a trap. He helps Jimmy out of the bathroom and eases him over to one of the beds. "Maybe you should just get some sleep, yeah?"

"I'm sorry," Jimmy murmurs, his fingers clutching at the front of Robert's shirt. "I drank too much. Please, don't be mad."

"It's okay," Robert reassures him, smoothing Jimmy's hair out of his face. "I'm not mad at you."

"I don't know why I'm like this. I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid. You're just drunk."

Jimmy lies on the bed, turned on his side in case there's another round of sickness brewing. "I lied to you before. When I said I was never in love."

"We've all got our dark secrets," Robert says with a half-smile. "Why are you telling me now?"

"'Cause I know what you're thinking. And you're wrong."

Robert sits on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest. "What am I thinking?"

"That I threw up 'cause I kissed you."

"You kissed me before and didn't get sick. Don't worry about it, Pagey. I'm not thinking anything like that."

"You're not thinking, 'oh, he needs to get shitfaced so he can touch me'?"

Robert frowns. "Not 'til now."

Jimmy drags a pillow underneath his head, one arm dangling over the side of the bed. "I didn't get drunk because of that. Well, kind of, but not for the reason you're thinking. This isn't that new to me. I had a boyfriend before, when I was in college."

Robert's lips part ever so slightly, and his brow creases in confusion.

Jimmy knows he needs to confess this while he's still tipsy or he'll never get the words out. "His name was Jeff. One of his relatives had a summer home around where I lived at the time. I met him the summer before my senior year of college. He was in a band, and we liked a lot of the same things, so we became friends pretty quickly. Then I started... feeling things for him, things I never felt for anyone else. He liked me too, so we started dating.

"You know what the funny part is? He's a Brit, too," Jimmy says with a sad smile. "You're nothing like him—he has dark hair, imperfect features, and his accent is different, but there you go."

Robert takes Jimmy's hand that's hanging over the edge of the bed. "Oh, Pagey..."

"We stayed together the whole summer, then he just... left. He told me he was going back to England and wanted to focus on making music. I offered to go with him, but he handed me a bunch of excuses that boiled down to 'I don't want you.'" Jimmy smiles wistfully, remembering how he'd been back then. "I didn't used to be an asshole. But when your first love gives you the boot sometimes you go a little crazy."

Robert squeezes Jimmy's hand, searching his eyes for something undefined. "How, um, how far did you go... together?"

"We never had sex, if that's what you're asking. He wanted to, but I wasn't attracted to him that way. At least, I don't think I was. I'd get off while we were kissing, but that was only because we were grinding against each other, y'know, lots of friction. But I never really—I didn't get turned on by him." Jimmy looks at Robert. "It's different with you."

Robert grins, like he's just been given the greatest compliment in the world.

"Y'know, in the back of my mind I've been worrying that feeling this way about you is just me making the same mistake I made with Jeff. I know you're two different people, and I can't see you going back to England without at least asking if I want to come along, but, hey, once bitten, twice shy, right?"

"That's why you got drunk tonight, isn't it? You wanted to take your mind off him."

"Bingo, baby," Jimmy says, settling impossibly further into the pillow.

"I'm so glad you told me all this! See what happens when you talk about things?"

Jimmy talked about things with Jeff, and Jeff still knows the names of Jimmy's tropical fish and how he touches his nose when he's nervous and the way he can talk at length about movies, and it doesn't seem fair that Jeff gets to keep those things when they're no longer anything to each other anymore.

"I'm gonna rinse off real quick," Robert says as he rises to his feet. "Will you be okay?"

"I've been worse."

"I'll try to hurry in case you need me."

Jimmy closes his eyes, hears the rustle of Robert rooting through his bag for a change of clothes. When the bathroom door shuts, Jimmy figures he ought to make an attempt to get comfortable, since he's probably not going to make it into the shower tonight. He manages to kick off his shoes and a sock before drunken exhaustion sweeps him away.

* * *

That night, Jimmy dreams of Jeff, of a specific memory at a specific point in time. They're lying together in Jeff's bedroom while the empty house creaks and settles. Jeff breaks away from kissing Jimmy's mouth raw to say, "I want you, Jim. So much. Why don't you want me?"

"I—I do," Jimmy says, emphatically grinding into the way Jeff's moving against his erection. "Don't you feel it?"

Truth be told, Jimmy's not sure how he feels. He knows he really likes Jeff, wants to spend the rest of his life with him, but the sex part of their relationship leaves Jimmy feeling awkward and confused. He likes it when they're kissing and gasping and grinding against each other through their clothes, when Jimmy comes with a smothered groan around Jeff's mouth. He likes it when Jeff reaches into his jeans and jerks Jimmy off, quick and heated, like he can't wait to watch Jimmy fall apart. But the thought of actual intercourse or putting a dick in his mouth just doesn't excite him.

Apparently, Jeff sees this is a challenge. "Yeah, I love how hard you get for me. But you'd come harder if I was inside you."

"Maybe," Jimmy says, his breath hitching when Jeff reaches down and grinds the heel of his hand against Jimmy's throbbing cock. "But I told you, I'm not ready."

Jeff gives him a wounded look that says he wishes Jimmy would just be a sport and put out already. "It's been three weeks. Is it 'cause I'm a bloke?"

"N—no."  _Maybe_. "It's just..."  _I'm not attracted to you, but I'm in love with you. How the hell does that work, and what the fuck is wrong with me?_

Jeff sighs and sits up, straddling Jimmy's hips. "I thought American blokes were all about losing their virginity."

"That's the neat thing about people: we're all different." Jimmy smiles, saccharine and fake. "Imagine that."

"Don't be a smart-arse. I hate it when you do that."

"You don't hate anything about my ass, otherwise you wouldn't want to get inside of it so bad."

"You're lucky you're so cute."

Jimmy makes his best innocent face, and Jeff folds to kiss him. Jimmy opens his mouth to accept his tongue, his arms sliding around Jeff's neck and pulling him closer. They kiss in a tangle of limbs and tongues until Jeff works Jimmy out of his underwear and goes down on him. It feels excrutiatingly good, and Jimmy gasps, startled by the immediacy of this new tactic. He's gotten blown before, but never by a man, never by someone he's been in love with.

Jimmy makes a quiet noise, shifting slightly in the sheets, and Jeff pulls away enough to breathe, "They're not home. You can be as loud as you want," against his cock. Jimmy shakes and sighs, his cries gaining intensity as Jeff's mouth works him, slow and supple, and when Jimmy comes, he does so with a shout.


	7. Slow Ride

Jimmy wakes up the next morning with swollen eyes, his throat parched and sore, and a world-class hangover pounding like a spike through his brain. Robert's lying in bed alongside him, one arm draped lazily over Jimmy's hip. They're tucked underneath the covers, and Jimmy discovers he's only wearing a t-shirt and his underwear. He vaguely recalls undressing at some point last night, though he doesn't know to what degree.

He lies in bed for a while and sorts through the disjointed images of last night flickering in his brain like a jittery film reel. Jimmy remembers the bar, winning the poker hands, throwing back lots of alcohol, the protective way Robert corralled him into the van when he grew too drunk to leave the bar himself. He remembers kissing Robert, the upheaval of his stomach contents, and talking about Jeff.

Jimmy's head throbs like a bruised testicle, so he finds his bag near the side of the bed, digs around for the bottle of Anacin he brought. Swallowing the pills, however, will require water. He'll have to leave the warmth and safety of the bed for that.

Robert stirs, his legs gliding against Jimmy's own as he stretches, long and lithe, beside him. He cuddles closer and buries his face in Jimmy's hair.

"You awake?"

"Yeah. Not for long though," Robert says, his voice low and rough with sleep.

"Good." Jimmy finds the pill bottle and shakes out two white capsules. He crawls to the bathroom for a drink of water, swallows the pills, and stumbles back into bed.

"Turn over," Robert whines at Jimmy's back. "I wanna see your face so I'll have good dreams."

"No way, I look like shit."

"I think you look beautiful."

Jimmy feels a small but intensely powerful spasm of affection for him. "You can't even see me."

"Doesn't matter." Robert shakes him gently, encouraging Jimmy to roll over. This will be a new thing for them, facing each other while they sleep. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met in real life," Robert says when he sees Jimmy.

"You're not too bad yourself, Sunflower."

Robert ducks his head, but Jimmy can see the spread of his smile in the roundness of his cheeks. They cuddle together, and Jimmy falls asleep with the warm fog of Robert's breath against his throat.

The next time they wake it's past noon, and Jimmy's hangover has subsided to a dull ache. He slips out of Robert's sleepy embrace and takes a hot shower. The water feels good against his skin, and he leans against the tile, letting the hot needles wash away the grime of last night's poor decisions.

When Jimmy steps out of the bathroom, fully dressed and refreshed, Robert's lying in bed watching TV. "I thought you were a morning person," Jimmy teases.

"Feeling better?"

Jimmy winces. "Not so loud, please."

"Guess not."

Jimmy fills a plastic cup with water from the bathroom faucet. "How come you're not hung over? You were drinking too."

"Just cheap beer. You're the one who got pissed on whiskey and tequila."

"Yeah, that probably wasn't a good combination," Jimmy says after hydrating himself.

"So I guess you wanna stay in today?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. You don't know how many times I came to work hung over."

They have lunch at a small café in Uptown and spend most of the day exploring the shops along Magazine Street. Jimmy lets Robert lead the way with his enthusiasm and eagerness, lets Robert pull him into bookstores and clothing boutiques and record shops. Robert views the world around him as a present waiting to be unwrapped, and Jimmy can't help but be drawn into his aura like a moth to a flame.

Over shaved ice at a snow cone stand, Robert asks Jimmy, "What were you like when you were younger? You said last night you weren't always an arsehole."

Jimmy smiles, strained. "Believe it or not, I was a lot like you."

"Meaning what?"

"Idealistic. Naïve. A glass-half-full type. The kind of person who would drop everything and go on a cross-country roadtrip."

"So maybe you haven't changed that much," Robert says, his mouth red and wet due to his approach of devouring a snow cone face-first. Jimmy sucks in a deep breath and wills his erection away.

"How old are you anyway?"

"Twenty-eight. I'll be twenty-nine in seventeen days."

"Oh yeah? I should do something special for you. Anything you want?"

"Oh, Pagey, you don't—you don't have go out of your way for me. I'm just happy to be here with you." Robert sounds so sincere when he says it, like it's the truth.

"Well, tough shit. We're dating now, so you're just gonna have to get used to accepting gifts."

Robert laughs, and the sound twists Jimmy's heart.

Later, Robert laments that he's running out of clean clothes to wear, so Jimmy finds an all-night self-service laundromat. Robert sits on one of the washing machines, helping Jimmy load the clothes. They're the only ones inside as the sun's beginning to set, so Robert doesn't think twice about easing a leg between Jimmy's own and hooking his ankle around Jimmy's calf. Jimmy gasps, the faint touch arousing him.

"Shit, don't—"

"No one can see us," Robert assures him, the glare of the setting sun highlighting him like a halo.

"It's not that," Jimmy says, wetting his lips. "I don't want my first orgasm with you to be so... unfulfilling."

Robert gets it now, withdrawing his leg from Jimmy's own. "Ohh, right, the broken cock problem. I guess it's been a while for you, hasn't it?"

"Pretty much. A gentle breeze could get me hard."

"Gives a whole new meaning to the term 'blowjob,' doesn't it?" Robert says, and Jimmy explodes with laughter.

While the clothes are spinning in the wash cycle, Robert and Jimmy duck into a nearby restaurant for dinner, trading forty minutes of perfect conversation over plates of Cajun cuisine. Talking with Robert is easy and fun, especially when he laughs, unguarded and comfortable, at Jimmy's jokes. He reaches playfully across the table to pilfer bites of food from Jimmy's plate, and there's an intimacy in the air, something natural that Jimmy never had with Jeff.

They box up the remainder of their food and head back to the laundromat. Once the clothes are in the dryer, they sit on top of the washing machines and finish their meals, watching Charlie's Angels on the small color TV hoisted on the wall.

"So did you set out to copy Farrah Fawcett's hairstyle, or was that completely unintentional?" Jimmy asks.

"Shut up," Robert says with affection. "Do you tease all your dates about their hair?"

"Only the ones who have too much of it," Jimmy answers with his mouth full.

"I s'pose Jeff didn't?"

Jimmy uses the time it takes to chew and swallow by considering how to evade the gnarly underbrush of the topic of Jeff. "Neither did I."

Robert studies Jimmy's face. "I can't imagine you with short hair. Was it always so..." He makes spirally motions with his index fingers.

"No, it was too short to curl. It wasn't my best look."

"I'm sure you looked wonderful," Robert says, his smile so genuine and reassuring. Jimmy's never seen Robert smile with any malice or false sincerity.

"You're just full of compliments, aren't you, Sunflower?"

Robert blushes, tucking a chunk of his hair behind his ear. "'M sorry, I must be insufferable sometimes."

"Just a bit. But that's 'cause I'm a cynical bastard."

"You didn't used to be," Robert reminds him, and it doesn't sound like an admonition, instead more like reassurance that it's possible for Jimmy to be that person again.

Jimmy shrugs a shoulder. "Shit happens."

"Doesn't mean it has to win. I think there's a lot of good in the world, and where there's not it's our job to cultivate it. I don't want to get jaded or cynical, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know. I also know what the world can do to someone who only sees beauty in it."

"It hasn't been all bad. I've had my share of misfortunes, but I know it could be a lot worse. So I'm grateful for that, at least."

"That attitude is just way too healthy for me," Jimmy says around a mouthful of jambalaya.

"Well, see, we balance each other out. Like Frodo and Sam from The Fellowship of the Rings."

Jimmy snorts a laugh. "Sorry, I never thought I'd meet someone who actually references Tolkien in a normal conversation."

"What's it say about you that you understood that reference?"

"That I'm a huge dork, too."

After the laundry's finished, they load up the van and head back to the motel. The invisible ball of fear and confusion Jimmy's carried with him since the beginning of the trip seems to have finally been vaporized, and in its place is a warm emptiness waiting to be filled.

Robert loiters by the motel pool as Jimmy hauls their bags out of the van. He's leaning on the railing around the oval-shaped pool, gazing at the moonlight rippling off the small waves. Jimmy deposits the bags in their room, swallows down another glass of water. When he steps out of the room, Robert's sitting by the pool's edge with his feet in the water, his sandals discarded by a green and yellow-checkered lounge chair.

"Going for a swim?" Jimmy asks, moving closer.

"I was thinking about it." Robert traces little circles in the water with his toes. "Do you still want me to teach you how to swim?"

"You're joking, right?"

"Why not? You got something better to do?"

"Maybe."

"Like what?" Robert challenges.

Jimmy scrambles for an answer. "Uh, we could smoke weed and watch TV. Maybe make out a little."

"Well, we can do the making out part now," Robert says, pulling his t-shirt over his head. "C'mon, I won't let you drown, I promise." He stands up, peels off his jeans and underwear in one go, and Jimmy gasps at the sight of Robert's perfect, naked ass. There's a noise somewhere in Jimmy's throat, but he swallows it down, and it comes out as a choked huff of air.

Robert's amazing body disappears as he slides into the water, a sly, daring smile on his lips. "Get in, Pagey."

"Nah, I'm good right here," Jimmy manages, rock hard in his jeans.

"C'mon," Robert whines, dragging the word out.

"Wasn't this how Jaws started?"

"There aren't any sharks in a bloody pool."

Jimmy realizes he's being an idiot, because Robert is wet and naked and willing, and all Jimmy has to do is just get in the damn water. "Alright, turn around," Jimmy says with a sigh, and he waits until Robert obeys before he strips off his clothes. He holds on to the metal rungs of the ladder, easing into the water one step at a time. Once he's submerged to his waist, he says, "Okay, I'm in."

Robert turns to face him and looks pleasantly surprised by Jimmy's presence here. His eyes do a quick once-over of Jimmy's naked torso, his gaze snagging momentarily below his hips, searching through the dark water before he lifts his eyes to Jimmy's own. Robert swims closer, encircling his arms around Jimmy's waist. "Can I kiss you?"

"I don't think that's proper swim instructor procedure," Jimmy says, but then, somehow Robert's already kissing him, and he surrenders to the hungry press of Robert's mouth. One of Robert's hands plays at the valley of Jimmy's spine, wet fingers gliding up his back. Jimmy can feel Robert's chest pressed tightly against his own, the smooth slide of naked thighs wrapping around his hips. Jimmy rocks forward, his cock shoving against the hard wall of Robert's stomach. Robert nips at Jimmy's bottom lip and eases them into deeper water.

His footing lost, Jimmy scrambles in the glistening water and frantically reaches for Robert, who's floating away to give Jimmy space to learn. "Just use your arms," Robert says, like it's the easiest thing in the world. Jimmy's still splashing about like he's dying, so Robert adds, "Can you copy what I'm doing?" His arms move in smooth, outward strokes, and Jimmy attempts to mimic him with decent success. At least he's not flopping around in the water like a fish on deck. "There you go!" Robert cheers, all bright eyes and encouraging smiles, and Jimmy feels like a doofus.

"Well, this isn't embarrassing."

"Everyone's got to learn to swim sometime," Robert says, gliding effortlessly through the water. He puts a bit more distance between them. "If you can catch me, you can kiss me."

"You're an awful person."

"I'm motivating you," Robert corrects him, bobbing up and down in place.

Jimmy pushes himself toward Robert with slow, powerful strokes that aren't very effective as far as speed goes. Robert glides away as Jimmy draws nearer. Fucking tease. "You're gonna be really sorry when I catch you," Jimmy huffs out.

"'When'? Oh, that's great, you're thinking positive!"

Jimmy grits his teeth and tries to imitate the way Robert's slicing through the water. He gains a bit of speed and manages to pin Robert against the side of the pool, capturing his mouth. Robert grins around the kiss, which Jimmy thinks is a little unfair, but he's not going to complain out loud about it. In a brazen moment of flirtation, Jimmy presses a hand against Robert's stomach and trails down to the line of his hipbone. Robert gasps around Jimmy's mouth, and Jimmy's purposely ignoring Robert's dick here, because that's a little too much for him to handle right now.

Jimmy slides his hand up Robert's chest, fingers grazing over a nipple, and Robert makes a cute little noise that Jimmy absolutely wants to hear again. But he's swimming away before Jimmy can do a thing about it. "Let's try that again, yeah?"

Jimmy's quicker this time, steadily getting the hang of this whole swimming thing. He closes in on Robert, who disappears under the deep water before Jimmy can reach him. Jimmy panics, because he hasn't learned this part yet, doesn't trust himself to submerge himself entirely. He wades through the water, following the dark shape of Robert's body as it moves along the bottom of the pool.

"Hey, that's not fair," Jimmy says, entirely aware of how silly he sounds.

The speed with which Jimmy is suddenly airborne is terrifying. One moment he's floating there in the pool, then the next he's being hoisted on Robert's shoulders and flung into the air. He hears himself yelp in panic before crashing into the water. The accumulated momentum from his fall sucks him down into the depths of the pool, and he thrashes in the water, his lungs paralyzed, and there's no goddamn way he's dying naked in a motel pool.

In a flurry of limbs, Jimmy manages to break the surface, and through his desperate gasps for air he hears Robert snickering. "Asshole!" Jimmy chokes out, slapping water at him, which only makes Robert laugh harder.

"Sorry, Pagey," he says, not sounding the least bit sorry. "I couldn't resist."

Jimmy pushes the wet curtain of hair out of his face. "Did you forget the part where I almost drowned as a child?"

"It was just a bit of fun," Robert complains. "And you're still alive, see?" Jimmy reaches the edge of the pool, shivering uncontrollably. He coughs out some of the chlorinated water he swallowed. "You're not getting out, are you?" Robert wades up to Jimmy's side, concern painted on his face. "I'm sorry, Pagey, I didn't mean to frighten you."

It's hard to be upset at Robert for anything when he sounds like that. "I know."

"Are you going inside?"

"Yeah, I think we're done here."

Robert hoists himself out of the pool, and, wow, that's a lot of Robert to look at. Jimmy inhales sharply as Robert's ass emerges from the water, wet and dripping and absolutely fucking perfect. Jimmy watches wordlessly while Robert wrings the water out of his hair, his gratuitous nudity doing nothing to help ease Jimmy's throbbing erection. He forces himself to turn around and look at the bushes shielding them from prying eyes until he hears Robert say, "You coming, Pagey?"

"Eventually," Jimmy says, glancing down at his traitorous dick.

* * *

After they've showered and pulled on clean clothes, they're lying in bed together watching mindless TV. Jimmy's positioned between Robert's legs, sort of propped against his chest, and Robert's leaning against the pillows lining the headboard. It's all very comfortable and familiar, and every now and then Robert drops kisses along the slope of Jimmy's neck and shoulder. His hands have stayed relatively chaste so far, but now they're venturing past the jutting peaks of Jimmy's hipbones, cautious fingers stroking over the bulge of Jimmy's cock through his sweatpants. Jimmy gasps in surprised arousal, and Robert murmurs, "Is this okay? Can I touch you like this?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's okay," Jimmy says, his voice shaking horribly as he tucks himself tighter against Robert's body.

Robert's hand rubs him slow and easy. It's been so long since Jimmy's had an orgasm, even a self-service one, and his dick, no longer unresponsive, grows harder under the touch like an exposed nerve ending. He leans into Robert, his hips pushing into the way Robert's stroking him.

Wordlessly, Robert eases his hands underneath Jimmy's pajamas, shoving them down his hips. He finds his way into Jimmy's briefs, fingers scratching through the hair at the base of his dick. Jimmy groans and drops his head against Robert's shoulder, reaches back to fist a hand in the sheets or Robert's shirt or whatever he can grab, because as Robert squeezes his fist around Jimmy's dick, Jimmy feels like he needs to hold onto something or he'll float away.

"Feels good, right?" Robert breathes at Jimmy's ear. Jimmy makes a whimpering noise and rolls his hips into Robert's hand. He can't tear his eyes away from watching Robert's fist move around his cock, the way his touch makes pre-cum ooze from the head. He wonders if Robert's watching too, if he can see what he does to Jimmy.

Robert's fingers are sticky now, and he closes his hand over the hot weight of Jimmy's balls and rolls them in his palm. Jimmy chokes on a sound that's much too loud in his own ears, his hips jerking feverishly. "I've always wondered what you'd sound like when I touched you," Robert says, his other hand snaking underneath Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy feels the cool air against his stomach where his shirt's pushed up and Robert's thumb rolling over his nipple.

This is probably the hottest thing that's ever happened to him. His cock's dripping wet now, and Robert closes his fist around him, getting his hand filthy with it. "I wanna hear you come for me, Pagey," Robert tells him, still plucking and teasing his nipple while his other hand slides up and down on his cock.

"Fuck," Jimmy shakes out, gasping incoherent noises cut through with Robert's name. Robert kisses Jimmy's neck, moaning against his skin, and Jimmy's body decides that's the tipping point, and he comes with a cry and a jerk, painting his stomach with his orgasm. He sighs soft gratitude through the comedown, and Robert strokes him slowly in a loose, wet fist, kissing the slope of his neck and praising him for a job well done. Which Jimmy thinks is kind of backwards, because Robert's the one who did all the work.

They lie there for a few moments, mingled sweat and juices drying on their skin as the air conditioner struggles to combat the muggy heat outside. Jimmy can feel Robert's breath on his neck, and he slumps further against him as Robert moves carefully over Jimmy's softening cock.

Jimmy sighs, "That was..." and leaves that sentence hanging, because he can't find words for it.

"Yeah," Robert says, contented, like he understands.

Robert's cock is swollen and throbbing against the base of Jimmy's spine, and Jimmy wants to help. This is supposed to be a mutual thing, right? He nudges back, grinding against Robert's dick and pulling a groan out of him. Robert picks up on what he's doing and pushes into the way Jimmy shoves back, and all Jimmy can hear are the needy moans Robert's making. He falls apart with a heavenly sound that almost gets Jimmy hard again.

"Pagey," Robert gasps, breathing hot against his skin.

Jimmy smirks. "Was it good for you too?"


	8. Going To The Country

The next afternoon, they're driving down the wrong interstate out of New Orleans. Jimmy wanted to take I-55 through Mississippi and end up in Clarksdale and, eventually, Memphis, due to Robert's passion for blues music. But instead he found himself on I-59, which is taking them through the most boring stretch of countryside Jimmy's ever seen.

"Don't worry about it, Pagey," Robert assures him as they fly by a sign that reads, 'Welcome to Hattiesburg!' "There's plenty to see other than Memphis, y'know. Graceland'll be there tomorrow, or next week, or whenever we decide to go. Besides, I've heard Florida and Georgia are worth looking at." Jimmy loves the way Robert's accent warps the final vowel in the states' names into "er" sounds. "And maybe we'll get to find out what Skynyrd thinks is so great about Alabama."

Jimmy wonders if anyone's ever told Robert how adorable he is.

They drive through the heat of the day, and Jimmy feels the back of his shirt soaking with sweat. He keeps the windows rolled down to let the smoke billowing from his cigarettes pour out and let the summer breeze swoosh in. If the heat bothers Robert, he doesn't say anything about it, content to sing along as Kansas flows through the speakers.

"Lay your weary head to rest," Robert sings, his voice overpowering the stereo. "Don't you cry no more."

"You're not half bad," Jimmy says, his amusement evident through a smirk at the corners of his lips.

"Really? You think so? You're not just saying that 'cause we're dating?"

"I don't give out compliments for my health, Sunflower. That being said, I think you got a great voice."

Robert blushes further, fussing nervously with his hair. "Thanks."

"You ever think about doing something with that?"

"No, it's just for fun."

"You sure? You could definitely do it, I mean, if you wanted." Jimmy pauses in realization. "Christ, I've become my father."

Robert laughs, and, God, Jimmy loves that sound. "Yeah?"

"I did some painting and drawing in college, and my dad gave me that same well-meaning yet still overbearing spiel—'you're really talented, Jim, I'd hate to see that go to waste.' You know what I mean."

"Not really," Robert says with a shrug. "Did your father know about you and Jeff?"

"I don't think so. If he thought we were spending too much time together, well, maybe he was just glad I made a friend. I was a bit of a loner for a long time growing up. I never had any siblings, so I sorta kept to myself. And it's not like I grew up in a small town where you can't take a shit without everyone knowing. So, no, I don't think he found out." Jimmy glances at Robert out of the corner of his eye. "How'd your dad find out?"

"Small town," Robert says with a pained smile. "One of the town mums spread a rumor—well, I guess it wasn't really a rumor—that she saw us together in a very couple-like way... Y'see, in Kidderminster there was this popular spot for couples to go when they wanted to snog or fuck or what-have-you. It was mostly just teenagers, but I s'pose if you wanted to have an extramarital affair that was the place to go."

"So she was there 'cause she was gettin' some on the side? That's a choice blackmail opportunity."

"And I would have taken it if I'd seen her, but, as you can imagine, I was a little preoccupied, y'know, getting plowed in the back seat of my boyfriend's car."

"Robert, you slut," Jimmy grins. "How come you didn't deny it? I mean, she didn't have pictures, did she?"

"No, no, but... She was the town gossip, and apparently she spread the rumor around to take the heat off her affair. So by the time my parents heard it, so had everyone else. It was one of those 'if enough people believe it, it must be true' sort of things."

Jimmy scowls straight ahead, anger roiling in his gut. "I'm sorry that happened to you. You didn't deserve it."

Robert opens his mouth to say something but closes it, reconsidering. Jimmy wonders what he might have said, if he would have brushed it off with an "it's okay." Because it's not okay that some wretched human being decided to wreck two innocent boys' lives over something as trivial as who they fell in love with. If Robert hadn't been forcibly outed, who knows what his life might have been like?

Jimmy cranks up the radio and steps on the gas.

* * *

They stop in a Birmingham, Alabama whiskey bar around nightfall. The interior is all dark mahogany and weathered leather, Southern rock on rotation in the jukebox. The air is thick with different kinds of smoke—cigarettes, cigars, ganja, and whatever's cooking on the grill—creating a tangible haze in the air. Leather-clad bikers and long-haired, bearded hillbillies make up most of the patrons, and they greet Robert and Jimmy with revulsion when the two step inside.

The bartender, a portly blonde woman with clownish makeup, doesn't seem to mind their presence, though. "You boys new around here?" she asks as they sit at the bar.

"What tipped you off?" Jimmy says with a friendly smile.

"Never seen you before. This ain't a real tourist trap, if you know what I mean."

"We're just passing through," Robert says.

After they order their drinks, she asks, "Where you from?"

"California," Robert answers while Jimmy takes a swallow of whiskey.

"And where you headed?"

Robert shrugs. "We're not really sure. Wherever the road takes us, I guess."

"Road trip, huh? I went on one of those myself, back in '67. Met the love of my life just outside Sioux City."

"Congratulations," Jimmy says, lifting his glass in a toast, just as an excuse to keep drinking.

Robert keeps her in conversation for a while, which earns them a complementary basket of fried green tomatoes. Jimmy loves that about Robert, how he effortlessly forms a rapport with everyone he meets. To Robert, every human being is an epic film or a thrilling novel waiting to be experienced.

Jimmy wishes he could trade in conversation like that himself, but he knows how he comes across. When he talks to women, they get the impression he's a sleazy asshole who's trying to sleep with them. Which isn't exactly untrue, but he doesn't know how to turn it off.

Maybe Robert's homosexuality endows him with some sort of social superpower—since he's not sexually attracted to women he can talk to them without fear of looking like a creep—but Jimmy never got the impression Robert was gay in the six months they spent working together for eight hours a day, so there goes that theory.

Maybe Jimmy's just a sleazebag and there's nothing he can do about it.

After a couple drinks, Robert challenges Jimmy to a spirited game of pool. Truth be told, he's better than Jimmy, so when two greasy, Hell's Angels-looking motherfuckers approach the table and challenge Robert, Jimmy backs off, eager to watch Robert wipe the floor with these unsuspecting strangers.

To Jimmy's surprise, Robert hustles them by playing the role of the airheaded Brit and lulling them into underestimating him. He attempts to engage them in light-hearted conversation, but their answers come out with a veneer of contempt, like they see Robert for exactly what he is and loathe him for it.

Robert wins the first round, and the two muscleheads begrudgingly pony up the cash and challenge him to a rematch. They underestimated him, they figure, so the next round should be easy now that they know he's not an idiot.

Jimmy senses the brewing storm before it comes to a head. The bikers drink throughout the game, which affects their aim. Even with the two of them teamed against Robert, their intoxication handicaps them significantly. By the time the second game nears its end, the bar is nearly empty save for the bartender and a few other patrons.

Robert steadies his cue and sinks the winning shot. "Good game, mates," he says, waiting expectantly for the game's winnings. They seem hesitant, as though they think Robert's earned his victory through fraud. The two men glare at him, fists clenching around pool cues. "I believe I won," Robert prods, still friendly, though Jimmy can hear the rising concern in his voice.

"I  _believe_  you cheated," the big guy seethes, stepping closer. His chest is big enough to use as a squash court.

Robert retreats a step. "Now, there's no need to be a sore loser." The big guy sets the pool cue on the table and cracks his knuckles. "Or be violent."

"Okay, guys, that's enough," Jimmy says, because he's an idiot who feels the need to say something.

The weasel-faced little guy turns and glares at Jimmy, his expression contorted with crimson rage. "Fuck off, nobody's talkin' to you."

Jimmy feels an almost religious compunction to mouth off when he's been drinking. Coupled with the urge to protect Robert, Jimmy knows he's going to do something recklessly stupid. "You lost fair and square. Pay him."

"Pagey, don't," Robert says. "Let's just go."

"Yeah,  _Pagey_ ," Weasel-Face sneers.

Jimmy clenches his fists, pinpricks of heat erupting along his spine.

The big guy finds this hilarious. "Uh oh, his boyfriend's getting mad. Sorry,  _Pagey_ , I didn't know she was taken."

They're laughing at him, and Jimmy feels helpless, like he's been transported back to his dates with Jeff. "That's real cute, guys. Homophobic bikers. You're doing a lot for your people." He really does keep making the same mistakes over and over.

"Leave 'em alone," the bartender hollers at the men, her voice a warning with a solid undercurrent of 'Don't fuck with me, okay?'

The big guys shouts back, "You're gonna let these two faggots cheat us?"

"You know the rules, Pig," she growls.

Jimmy laughs. "I don't think a guy called Pig should be making fun of anyone's name." He's rewarded for his verbal acuity by Pig punching him in the liver.

A good liver shot will temporarily paralyze you, and this one comes damn close. Jimmy drops to his knees, gasping wordlessly for air. The second blow hits him across the face and knocks him to the floor. He can almost feel his brain jar from the impact. He braces himself for another attack, but instead there's a loud, animal-like yell, and someone hurls himself at Pig. It can't be Robert or Weasel-Face, because they're still standing, watching this violent tsunami of egos and manhood.

Pig and the stranger roll on the floor in a knot of limbs. There's a crunching sound, like a beetle being stepped on, and Pig makes an agonized scream. The man left standing after the tussle isn't Pig, but a stocky, bearded guy in worn jeans and a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. He wipes his mouth with a meaty forearm. "Leave 'em alone," he says to Pig, his voice husky with rage. "Or I'll break more than just your face." He shoots a glare at Weasel-Face, too, and the smaller man shrinks back a bit.

Pig and his comrade size this new challenger up. He's not as huge as Pig, but he did charge into the middle of a barfight to defend the two skinny guys, which probably indicates him as someone not to be fucked with. Normal people generally don't join fights not involving them, and his size and the ease with which he took down a man much larger than himself means he knows a thing or two about fighting.

"Jesus, dude, chill the fuck out," Weasel-Face says, reaching into his jeans' pocket with a shaky hand and laying Robert's winnings on the pool table.

Pig gets to his feet and does the same. A sickening stream of crimson gushes from his nose. "Yeah, man, we didn't mean anything by it."

"You punched him in the face," the stranger says, pointing at Jimmy. Jimmy's battered face throbs at the reminder.

"And the liver," Jimmy coughs out, still reeling from the punch.

"Get outta here, Pig, and take your weird friend with you," the bartender snaps, and, oddly enough, they obey. They slip out the back, and the muggy night air oozes in before the door shuts.

The bearded stranger offers Jimmy a hand. "You alright?"

Jimmy accepts, lets the man help him to his feet. "I'll live."

Robert rushes over and touches gentle fingers to Jimmy's aching face. "Nice goin', tough guy," he says, smiling like he's trying not to. He guides Jimmy to the bar, helps him onto a stool.

"Sorry for the trouble, ma'am," the stranger apologizes.

The bartender snickers. "No trouble. I'm glad somebody finally kicked the Pig's fat ass."

"Is that really his fucking name?" Jimmy wonders aloud.

"No, but that's what I call him because he's a swine," she says, scooping some ice into a small towel and twisting off the ends. She hands Jimmy the makeshift ice pack, and he murmurs his thanks. He presses the ice to his battered face, shivers at the chill. "As you just learned."

Robert turns his attention to their new friend. "Thank you for stepping in," he says. "I don't know what we would've done if you hadn't."

"Ah, I could'a taken him," Jimmy grouses.

The stranger shakes Robert's hand. "The name's John, but my friends call me Bonzo."

"Like the dog?"

Bonzo smiles, as though pleased Robert understands the reference. "That's the one. My CPO spent a couple years in England. He's the one who gave me the name."

Jimmy picks up on the terminology. "You're military?"

Bonzo nods. "US Navy. Yourself?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "Conscientious objector."

"Well, maybe if you'd joined you would'a learned how to fight—or at least take a punch."

"You don't think I could'a taken him?" Jimmy protests, looking to Robert for support. "Nobody?" He tosses a pleading look to the bartender.

"A stiff breeze could carry you outta here," she says, resulting in uproarious laughter from Bonzo.

Jimmy sulks, and Robert pats his arm in consolation. "My hero."

Bonzo lifts an eyebrow. "I guess this isn't the first time you guys've dealt with this?"

"Being gay is like taking a crash course in human nature," Robert says. "I've learned to just keep walking. Making an arse out of yourself doesn't do any good, just makes it worse."

"I'm a slow learner," Jimmy adds.

"Or maybe you like gettin' punched," Bonzo says.

"One sexual discovery at a time, please."

Robert turns his body toward Bonzo and asks, "So, you were in the military? Do you watch  _M*A*S*H_  and point out everything that isn't realistic?"

Bonzo gives Jimmy a skeptical look. "Is this dude for real?" Jimmy just nods. "Nah, they're pretty well-researched. The only thing I noticed that's bullshit is Radar's left hand is kinda fucked up, so he wouldn't have been eligible for active service."

"Do you live around here?" Jimmy asks before Robert can cut in with another silly question.

Bonzo nods. "My whole life. I'm leavin' tonight, though."

"Why? What happened?" Robert asks.

"Personal problems," Bonzo admits after a moment, chagrined.

"Trouble with the law?"

"Nah, nothin' like that," Bonzo says with a dismissive handwave. "I just thought I'd hop a bus and see where it takes me."

Robert practically reaches out and grabs Bonzo by the shoulders. "That's what we're doing!" he cheers, enthusiasm leaking out of every pore. "'Cept Pagey's got a van, so there's no danger of being accosted by creepy strangers."

"Oh yeah?" Bonzo says, looking amused. "Where you from?"

"Los Angeles," Jimmy says.

"I've always wanted to go there."

Jimmy shakes his head. "Don't. It sucks."

That makes him laugh. "I'll take your word for it, then."

Robert spins on his barstool and faces Jimmy. He pulls a face that's so endearing Jimmy just  _knows_  he wants something. "Pagey, he should come with us!"

Of fucking course.

"He did something nice for us," Robert's saying, "so we gotta do something nice for him."

"We barely know him. He could be some psycho, like Charles Manson."

"Do I look like Charles Manson?" Bonzo asks, and Jimmy and Robert glance at each other, silently wondering who's going to break it to him.

"If he gained about a hundred pounds, yeah," Jimmy says.

"Bonzo's a good guy," the bartender cuts in. "He's not gonna kill you and make a suit out of your skin."

Jimmy places his free hand over his heart. "That is  _so_  reassuring."

"C'mon, Pagey," Robert begs. "I have a sixth sense about people. That's how I knew about you."

"And look what a prize I turned out to be."

Robert frowns insistently at Jimmy. Jimmy sighs, because Robert is impossible. "Have you ever seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre?"

The title, or perhaps the sudden subject change, makes Robert's expression fall into worried disgust. "No."

Jesus Christ. How, Jimmy wonders, can someone be alive and not have seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre? "Well, okay, here's the Cliff Notes version: a bunch of hippies get stranded in a backwoods Texas town, and the innocent-looking old man they meet at the general store in the beginning ends up being the ringleader of the whole crazy cannibal cult. She"—Jimmy points at the bartender—"is the old man in this scenario, and he"—he points to Bonzo—"is the chainsaw-wielding maniac who's going to murder us."

"Not today," Bonzo says, "I left my chainsaw in the garage."

Robert reaches out and, with a gentle hand, tilts Jimmy's chin up, examining his face. Then he peers into Jimmy's eyes, as though searching for something. "Not the best time for foreplay, honey," Jimmy deadpans, earning a snicker from Bonzo.

"You're awfully paranoid," Robert explains, dropping his hand away. "I thought you might have been..." He lets that sentence taper off, but Jimmy knows how it would have ended. Jimmy feels oddly wounded by the accusation.

"You guys don't owe me anything," Bonzo says. "I helped you out 'cause I wanted to, and those cunts shouldn't've been hassling you anyway."

Jimmy doesn't get a bad vibe from Bonzo, but his relationship with Robert has only just begun, and their road trip together is sort of an intimate affair. Three's a crowd, as the saying goes.

But maybe Bonzo isn't a homicidal maniac at all. Maybe he's just a lost, lonely guy searching for enlightenment, just like the rest of them.

"What are you running from?" Jimmy asks Bonzo after a moment of thought.

"My marriage just ended. She wanted kids, and I can't..." Bonzo glances off, and for a moment Jimmy sees a glimpse of the wounded man inside. "Yeah..."

If Robert was able to see something inside of Jimmy worth loving, maybe his intuition about Bonzo is right, too. There's a good chance Jimmy's too jaded and cynical to see things properly. Plus, he did just get assaulted. Something like that tends to color your opinion on the world just a bit more negatively.

Jimmy exhales a deep sigh. "The van only seats two," he starts. "You'll have to sit in the back."

Robert's face lights up with joy, and Jimmy wants to be able to make him look like that all the time.

* * *

Bonzo helps Jimmy find a decent motel in town. He and Robert follow Jimmy inside the room, and Jimmy ceremoniously collapses onto the nearest bed. Robert kneels at his side, carefully brushing away the hair from Jimmy's face. "Are you in pain?"

"Only on the inside." Jimmy huffs a laugh, gazing at Robert's beautiful face. "You really think I'd learn."

"I think it's sweet you wanted to defend my honor. You're really a good man deep down, aren't you?"

"Sure, let's go with that." Jimmy's fading fast, the alcohol and pain mixing into a pretty potent cocktail for exhaustion.

Robert kisses Jimmy's forehead, a gesture so tender it makes Jimmy's heart ache. "Why don't you get some rest, Pagey? It's been a long day."

"Yeah," Jimmy murmurs, his eyelids at half mast, and he falls into a dark, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Jimmy wakes up the next morning tucked underneath the blankets and missing his jeans. At some point while Jimmy slept, Robert must have removed some of his clothes and eased him into bed. He smiles to himself, warmed by Robert's demonstration of kindness.

He hears Robert talking quietly with someone, a voice it takes Jimmy a moment to recognize: Bonzo, the bearded stranger from the bar last night. Robert sounds like he's talking with his mouth full, which means there's food, and Jimmy realizes he's starving. Carefully, he eases into a sitting position, drags a hand through his messy hair.

Robert and Bonzo are sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, and Robert turns his head, hearing how the mattress creaks as Jimmy moves. "G'morning, Pagey!" he says, multicolored sprinkles stuck at the corner of his mouth. "Are you feeling any better?"

Bonzo sees Jimmy's battered, tired face and snorts a laugh. "Wow, look at you."

"Is it really that bad?"

Robert refuses to make eye contact, which Jimmy finds a tad disconcerting. "Um..."

"You might wanna take a sedative before you look in the mirror," Bonzo says.

Great, now Jimmy  _has_  to look. He slides out of bed and pads into the bathroom. "Oh God!" A dark purple bruise about the size of a tennis ball has formed on his jaw.

"I warned you."

"Don't worry, Pagey. I still think you're beautiful."

"Gee, thanks," Jimmy sighs. He isn't sure how to feel about the bruised and weary reflection staring back at him.

Bonzo and Robert are sharing a box of a dozen donuts, and Jimmy joins them on the floor, grabbing one for himself. He opens his mouth to take a bite, and pain rockets through his jaw like he's been punched again. "Fuck," he hisses through his teeth.

"Looks like you won't be gettin' head tonight," Bonzo says, looking pointedly at Robert.

"Jesus Christ," Jimmy exclaims.

Robert laughs. "He's great, ain't he?"

"A riot." Jimmy fights through the pain and manages to bite into the donut, though not without effort. Chewing isn't exactly painless either.

Bonzo looks at Robert and asks, "Is he always this cranky?"

"On occasion," Robert says with a fond smile. "He takes a little getting used to."

"What's the story with you two anyway?"

Robert tells Bonzo how he and Jimmy got together and makes it sound like a goddamn Tolkien novel. Jimmy listens intently, eager to hear Robert's side of the story, the emphasis he places on particular events. Robert nervously explains the crush he developed on Jimmy when he arrived at Swan Song. Hearing this is so exhilarating and surreal, because Jimmy can't imagine himself as the kind of person anyone would admire from afar. In high school, Jimmy had his fair share of admirers, but he's thirty-three years old now with no viable skills or prospects, so it's hard to believe anyone could look at him and see someone worth wanting.

For the first time, Jimmy feels something approaching optimism about who he is, who he can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins the hilarious trend of Jimmy constantly getting his shit ruined. Hopefully I've made him unlikeable enough that you don't mind him getting beat up a lot.


	9. So Into You

Robert and Bonzo fire up a couple joints on the drive to Atlanta, and Jimmy has to roll down the driver's side window so he can breathe properly. "You guys mind not getting high while I'm driving?"

"If not now, when?" Bonzo asks after a long, meaningful drag.

"Maybe when I'm not in control of a vehicle? I'd like to die peacefully in my sleep, not behind the wheel of a van going sixty miles an hour."

"Then maybe you should slow down," Bonzo says, which earns a guffaw of laughter from Robert.

Jimmy frowns. "Oh, nice, laugh at his jokes."

Robert takes Jimmy's ire in stride and exhales a puff of smoke in his face.

The spend the day in an amusement park west of Atlanta. Robert drags them onto all the log flume and mine train rides, which Jimmy vehemently protests, but apparently they've reached that part in their relationship where Robert just stops listening to him entirely.

After stumbling off a 105-foot tall roller coaster, Jimmy dry-heaves spastically over a trash can. Robert finds this hilarious, while Bonzo just slaps him on the back and calls him a pussy.

"Pagey, don't tell me you've never ridden a roller coaster before. Haven't you ever gone to Disneyland?"

Jimmy shakes his head, his insides still queasy. "The last time I went to Disneyland was in '65, and they didn't have anything like  _that_." He remembers that day, and maybe that's the real cause of his nausea.

"It's been over ten years?" Robert says in a display of his math skills. "Didn't you have anyone to go with?"

"I told you, my social circle would rather have hookers and blow instead of a day at the theme park."

"Wouldn't we all?" Bonzo says wistfully.

While Bonzo goes off to buy beer and corn dogs, Robert takes Jimmy on the parachute drop ride. Jimmy really doesn't like the idea of being suspended two-hundred or so feet high, but each chute seats only two people, so maybe Robert wants to be alone with him.

Jimmy tries not to look at the ground as the ride begins to move. His anxiety must be written on his face, because Robert asks, "What's wrong?"

"I kinda have this problem with heights..." Jimmy says, gulping as the chute slowly ascends into the air.

"Oh, Pagey, nothing's gonna happen. You rode that roller coaster and everything was fine."

"Yeah, well, statistically, the more rides I go on the higher my probability of dying on one."

"Well,  _statistically_ , you should hush," Robert says before sticking his tongue out at him.

"What a fantastic argument. You could be a lawyer."

Robert giggles and relaxes in his seat. Jimmy can't help but watch the ground grow further and further away as the chute gains altitude. When the ride reaches its apex, it stops and suspends them in the air. Jimmy, of course, panics. "Oh God, we're stuck."

"It's s'posed to do that," Robert reassures him. His sandals dangle precariously from his toes. "Man, look at that view!" He's gazing out at the Georgia landscape sprawling before them, the lush trees covering the earth, but Jimmy's focused on how tiny the people look on the ground.

Jimmy takes a deep breath, sort of leaning into Robert's personal space a bit. Robert doesn't seem to mind. "Y'know, my first date with Jeff was at Disneyland," Jimmy admits with a sudden, piercing sadness. "We were on the Skyway, and he asked me if I had a crush on him. It was one of those gondola rides, y'know, like a ski lift, so I couldn't escape the question unless I felt like plummeting to my death. Anyway, I admitted it, and he kissed me." Jimmy smiles at the memory, despite himself. Then the levity fades, and melancholy seeps in. "I don't know why thinking about him brings me down so much."

"He was your first love," Robert says. "You always remember your first."

"I just... The more I think about it, the more I feel like a fucking idiot for having felt anything, for ever telling him anything. You can take back the books or the records you lent someone, but what about the secrets you told and the time you invested and all your firsts? Why do they get to keep those things?"

"Some might say it's a learning experience."

"So what was the lesson?"

"Am I s'posed to know the answer to that?"

"It'd be nice."

"Well, I don't." Robert laces a hand with Jimmy's own. "I'm still figuring things out myself. I'm not the best person to ask for advice."

"You're the best I've got."

"Ain't that a shame," Robert says with a smirk, and Jimmy knows he doesn't have a crush on Robert anymore because he's already in love with him.

* * *

They make the decision to head into Florida over plates of southern fried chicken at an Atlanta diner. "There's some pretty cool shit down there," Bonzo says, taking a bite out of a chicken leg like it's personally offended him. "I don't know what route you guys were goin', but in case you were takin' suggestions..."

Jimmy's sore, bruised jaw forces him to cut his food into tiny, bite-sized pieces, at which Bonzo makes a bevy of crude jokes regarding Jimmy's oral sex capabilities before Robert hurls a biscuit at him to make him stop. Bonzo confiscates all the food that crosses his invisible boundary line on the table, so Robert resorts to throwing balled-up napkins. Jimmy gets the feeling that, at some point during this trip, Robert and Bonzo will come to blows over food.

In Jacksonville, they stop into a Cuban restaurant for a late lunch, and Jimmy wins a few low-stakes poker games against some men in shorts and Hawaiian shirts. One of the guys bonds with Bonzo, and the two of them chatter endlessly about cars while Jimmy and Robert migrate to another table so they can dine in peace.

"So what do you think about Bonzo?" Robert asks.

Jimmy snorts. "What are we, twelve?"

Robert rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his sandwich. "Do you really need a sarcastic answer for everything?"

Jimmy opens his mouth to answer that with something sarcastic, but he doubts it will be helpful. "He's alright, I guess. I can't say too much bad about a guy who stepped in and saved our asses. And you seem to like him, so I guess he can stay. Why? Did he say something about me? Does he wanna take me to homecoming?"

Robert looks like he's trying very hard not to laugh at that. "Smart-arse."

"I can't help it. It's a sickness." Jimmy takes a long drink of his beer. "Although... Since Bonzo started bunking with us, we haven't really had much time alone."

"It's only been two nights."

"Yeah, but think about it in the long-term. He said his marriage just ended, right? So he's probably not gonna jump into a relationship, and if he does what are the odds this chick will want to come along on this traveling circus?"

Robert pouts, understanding Jimmy's point. "Oh... Well, I'm sure he wouldn't mind—"

Jimmy makes a face. "Please don't suggest that we just ignore his presence in the room and go at it anyway? I'm not a big fan of other people in the room while I'm having sex."

"Well, it seems cruel to make him sleep alone in the van."

"Yeah, that's out." Safety in numbers, and all. And once you've experienced the luxury of a soft bed and air-conditioning, it's hard to abandon that in lieu of sleeping in the back of a van.

"Why don't we put him up in his own room?"

That seems like a great way for all of them to run out of money really quickly, and it's not exactly smart financial planning to hedge all your bets on poker games. But Jimmy doesn't see any more viable options. "Yeah, we might have to start doing that." He takes another drink. "It wouldn't be such a big deal, but we only just got together, and I want—I wanna be alone with you, y'know, in a private, couple-like way."

Robert grins. "I love it when you sweet-talk me."

Jimmy sort of scowls and pretends to be annoyed.

Bonzo approaches their table while they're sharing dessert. "The only way this would be more gay is if you were feeding each other."

"I think it'd be a lot gayer if we were naked," Jimmy says with a fake smile.

Robert goes red, while Bonzo just laughs under his breath and shakes his head. Jimmy was expecting him to be more grossed out by the suggestion of male nudity, but whatever.

"Anyway," Bonzo starts, "Mick invited me to go down to the beach and drive his brother's dragster in a race. His brother's sick and can't make it, but he's got a lot of money ridin' on this, so—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." Jimmy sets down his spoon so he can affix Bonzo with the proper amount of disbelief. "You met a stranger named Mick at a bar, and you're actually leaving the property with him?"

"You met a stranger named Bonzo at a bar and took him with you," Bonzo points out.

"There were extenuating circumstances!" Jimmy argues, because these are totally different situations.

Bonzo ignores him. "I guess you guys don't wanna come along?"

Robert looks at Bonzo, then to Jimmy, like he's seeking permission. Jimmy gives him a meaningful look, and Robert says, "Oh, um, actually, I already made plans with Pagey tonight. Is that okay? You'll be able to get back to the motel, right?"

"Yeah, I can catch a cab, no problem."

"You still have your key?"

Bonzo jingles the motel room key at them. "I'm a big boy, Plant. But if I lose the key I'll just bang on your door."

"Please don't," Jimmy says. "I need my beauty sleep."

Bonzo stuffs the key into his pocket. "Well, have fun, Princess Page. See you guys later," he says, walking away.

Jimmy looks at Robert and growls, "I changed my mind. He's sleeping in the van."

* * *

They're lying on the bed with Jimmy's slickened hand wrapped around Robert's dick. Robert's sighing soft noises around Jimmy's kisses, and Jimmy strokes him slow and easy, enjoying the way Robert squirms and bucks into his fist. Robert is stripped down to nothing, his clothes abandoned in a pile at the foot of the bed, and Jimmy's having trouble keeping this a strictly hands-only affair. There are so many things Jimmy wants to try with him, but watching Robert writhe and hearing his breathless moans is pretty fucking great, too.

It's easier than Jimmy thought it would be to touch him like this, although lying next to Robert and kissing him and inhaling the way he smells after a shower makes it rather difficult not to. Robert's leg is slung over Jimmy's hip, and Jimmy's hand is slippery with the pre-cum dripping from the blood-flushed head of Robert's cock. Robert shakes as Jimmy touches him, his kisses growing rougher and messier the closer he gets to orgasm.

"Pagey," Robert gasps, his hips rocking into the way Jimmy's stroking him. His breath is hot and wet against Jimmy's skin, and Jimmy twists his hand at the head of Robert's dick, pulling a sharp noise of want out of him.

"C'mon, give it up for me, Sunflower," Jimmy murmurs, and Robert cries out, coming in long, wet stripes over his belly and Jimmy's hand. Jimmy enjoys watching this a lot more than he should, but he loves how Robert's chest heaves with shaky breaths, loves watching him pant and thrust his way through his orgasm. He can't help but kiss Robert's mouth again, and Robert kisses so recklessly and easy and deep, like nothing Jimmy's ever experienced before.

Robert slides a hand along the length of Jimmy's arm. "That was nice." His voice hitches while Jimmy's still toying with his softening cock.

"If that's how you sound for 'nice,' I can't wait to hear the noises you make when it's really good."

"I've been told I get a bit loud," Robert admits, his cheeks flushing a deeper pink.

Jimmy grins. "Oh yeah? That sounds pretty hot." But Robert looks embarrassed, and Jimmy thinks that's worth exploring. "Did your ex give you shit about that?"

Robert shrugs, trying his best to look like he doesn't care. "It wasn't one of the things he liked about me."

"No shit? I'm already hard from just listening to you bein' quiet." Jimmy shakes his head. "Man, that's unbelievable."

"Maybe he didn't want to be reminded he was making love to another man."

Jimmy scrunches up his face. "How'd you wind up dating such a douchebag?"

"I didn't think I deserved better."

"You, Mr. Optimist? C'mon, even Jeff wanted my tight little ass."

Robert reddens deeper at the mention of Jimmy's ass; Jimmy makes a note of that particular piece of information. "And maybe he thought you were a douchebag."

Jimmy blinks, stunned. He never really thought about it that way before. "Wow, harsh, man. I jerk you off and you call me a douchebag. What the fuck, Robert?"

Robert doesn't seem to notice the smirk Jimmy's wearing, because he's taking the feigned offense seriously. "No, no, I didn't mean it that way," he stammers out. "I just—There's two sides to every story, y'know, and maybe Jeff felt—"

"I'm just fucking with you," Jimmy says through a grin. "Chill out. I know I'm an irredeemable asshole, but I don't want my boyfriend pointing it out after sex." He kisses Robert to convey that he's joking.

"You're not irredeemable. You're a work in progress," Robert says when their mouths are their own again. He slinks away to clean up, and Jimmy unabashedly stares at Robert's ass until the bathroom door shuts.

When Robert returns, he worships Jimmy's body with unparalleled fervor, kissing the slope of his neck, his shoulder, his tongue lapping at the hollow of Jimmy's throat. Jimmy takes it all, lets Robert pull his shirt over his head and cover his chest with kisses, lets his fingers scratch through the sparse patch of hair. Robert's mouth is luscious over his nipples, his teeth gentle as they pinch and work the cherry-like nubs, and Jimmy makes a sound he's going to deny ever making. He can feel the spread of Robert's smile over his skin, the wide heat of his hands as they climb the lattice of Jimmy's ribs.

"You're so thin," Robert muses, his voice laced with concern as he kisses lines down Jimmy's body. His tongue swirls around Jimmy's navel before dipping in. Jimmy groans low in his throat, his fingers knotting in Robert's hair. Robert pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of Jimmy's sweats, kissing the exposed line of his hipbone. He gazes up at Jimmy and asks, "Can I?"

Jimmy nods, breathes out, "Yeah," because he knows Robert will make it good for him. Robert pushes his hands inside Jimmy's sweats, his palms warm around his hips, and strips him down. Jimmy wonders if he should be self-conscious about his nudity, because he's a lanky mess of sinew and bone, but Robert settles his palms in the curve behind Jimmy's knee joint and presses a kiss against the side of his knee. "You're beautiful," Robert mumurs into Jimmy's skin, and Jimmy feels it in his soul.

Jimmy's cock is painfully hard, pre-cum glistening at the head, but Robert takes his time with Jimmy, planting kisses along the inside of his thighs and leaving secret little red marks privy only to the two of them. Jimmy wriggles in the sheets, whimpering pathetic noises and shivering with need. Robert's breathing so fucking close to his cock, and Jimmy's tempted to reach down there and finish himself off.

Robert closes his mouth over Jimmy's dick, swallows him down, and Jimmy shouts a half-choked noise, because, fuck, Robert's really good at this. Robert hums around him, unbothered by the way Jimmy's arching and pushing into his mouth, like he's used to this, and Jimmy really shouldn't find that as hot as he does. He hears himself gasping encouragements cut through with Robert's name, feels the head of his dick at the back of Robert's throat, feels the way Robert sucks him, slow and practiced. His orgasm's coming with all the force of a tidal wave, and all Jimmy can do is clutch at Robert's hair and swear his way through it.

Robert drinks him down, humming contentment around him. His tongue drags from the base of Jimmy's dick to the plummy head before Robert pulls away, licking his lips. "Was that good?" he asks, as if there's any chance Jimmy will say no.

Jimmy catches his breath, smirks, and says, "It was nice."


	10. Stuck In The Middle With You

They hear of a newly-opened water park in Orlando, and Jimmy points the van there because Robert and Bonzo insist they visit, but mostly because they outnumber him. Jimmy doesn't own a pair of swim trunks, so Robert lets him borrow one of his own, which Jimmy finds a little strange. "Why did you bring two pairs of these?"

"Because I packed before I knew you couldn't swim," Robert answers. "I anticipated we'd do a lot of swimming."

"Princess Page can't swim?" Bonzo asks with a laugh.

"I really wish you'd stop calling me that," Jimmy grumbles, slinging a stolen motel towel over his shoulder as they head inside. The park smells like suntan oil and chlorinated water.

Bonzo shrugs. "If the shoe fits..."

Since it only opened a few months ago the park isn't very large, but Robert gazes at the expanse of crystal blue water in awe. "We haven't got anything like this in England," he says. "At least not that I've seen."

Jimmy spends a good deal of time underneath the shade of the poolside umbrellas and watching Bonzo and Robert in the wave pool, as though they're children he's personally responsible for. With the way they're splashing water and playfully attempting to pull off each others' swim trunks, Jimmy thinks, yeah, that's a pretty accurate assessment.

"C'mon in, Pagey," Robert whines, swimming up to the edge of the pool where Jimmy's lounging in the shade. "It's not that deep 'til you get to the waterfall."

"Last time I was in the water you tried to drown me."

"That was just a bit of fun! I promise I won't do it again."

"C'mon, Princess," Bonzo goads. "Take a swim."

"If I do, will you stop calling me that?"

"I make no promises."

Jimmy sighs and relents to their demands, stepping out of his comfortable little spot in the shade and into the water. The hellish Florida sun beats down on his skin, but the water offers a crisp, refreshing reprieve, encouraging Jimmy to go deeper. He stops around the five-foot mark, feeling like an idiot. There are children here who aren't afraid to swim out to the waterfall, viewing the eight-foot deep water as a challenge rather than a death trap.

"You remember how to do it, right?" Robert asks, slowly wading backwards into deeper water.

"Yes," Jimmy grits out. He follows Robert and feels the smooth scrape of the pool floor gradually disappear from beneath his feet.

Robert slows down a bit so Jimmy can keep up. "You're not embarrassed, are you?"

"Gee, what gave it away?"

"I don't think less of you because you're learning, Pagey," Robert says. "I'm happy I can teach you something."

"I'm still feeling very pathetic right now."

"You shouldn't! I'm sure there are lots of things you're good at that I'm not."

"Swimming is kind of a basic skill, y'know, right up there with feeding yourself and not shitting your pants, so..."

"Well, if you didn't grow up 'round water, you've got an excuse."

"Because Kidderminster was such a beachside resort," Jimmy sneers. They're moving into deeper water, and Jimmy realizes distracting him with conversation was probably Robert's plan all along.

Robert smiles, like he's pleased that Jimmy remembers his hometown. "My boyfriend had a pool. Well,  _he_  didn't, but his folks did."

"That explains so much."

"Like what?"

"Two burgeoning homosexuals seeing each other wet and nearly naked. You never had a chance at being straight."

Robert snickers, looking stunned when his back bumps against the lip of the waterfall. "Oh, look!" He turns around to watch the water cascading down in shimmering waves. "You made it!"

Jimmy feels a swell of pride and challenges Robert to a race on the way back.

Later in the afternoon, the three of them float down the lazy river, bobbing idly in the azure water. Jimmy's the laziest of all, moving downstream atop a neon-colored inner tube. Bright green trees with long, needle-like leaves offer shade on either side of them, and Jimmy thinks it would be very easy to just drift away and disappear along the endless flow of the water.

"Pagey, the water's not very deep here," Robert points out, a hand on the inner tube like he's trying to climb aboard. "Get out of there and swim."

"Fuck off. I'm relaxing."

"The lazy river's never been so lazy," Bonzo says, and Robert laughs the way he always does at Bonzo's jokes, like they've been friends for ages.

Jimmy gets his foot curled around Bonzo's shoulder and gives him a playful shove. He closes his eyes, intent on relaxing, but Bonzo and Robert are a formidable team when they put their heads together, because they're tipping over the inner tube and sending Jimmy crashing into the water. The water's only about four feet deep, so Jimmy rights himself easily, breaking through the surface and pushing his wet mop of hair out of his face. "I hate both of you!"

Robert has commandeered the inner tube, and Bonzo's pushing him down the river as Robert laughs in delight, coaxing him to go faster. If Jimmy ever catches up to them they're going to fucking pay.

He gets his revenge about halfway down the river, his arms slicing madly through the water. He passes Bonzo on the left, who says, "Hey, Princess, glad you could join us!" Jimmy upheaves the inner tube, and Robert topples into the water with a surprised squeak. Jimmy reclaims his inflatable throne, and the cycle begins again.

* * *

"I look like a lobster!" Robert moans, his skin a bright, blistered red. The Florida sunshine is a lot more potent than California's, which the three of them discovered when they left the park, their skin tight and itching with burns spreading like a fever. Now they're in their motel room, and Jimmy's rubbing aloe vera on Robert's skin while Bonzo's rinsing off in the shower.

"A very pretty lobster," Jimmy says, attempting to lift Robert's spirits.

Robert makes a hopeless noise, sinking further into the mattress. He's lying face-up, and Jimmy's on top of him, straddling his hips, and in any other circumstance this would be the prelude to something sexual. But they're both too burned and chapped to do a thing about it.

Jimmy rubs a glob of green gel over Robert's face, and Robert does a cute squinty thing when Jimmy's fingers move over his cheeks and nose. "Of course your fair English skin would burn so easily," Jimmy teases. "I s'pose that makes you a crisp?"

Robert frowns at him. "Shut up," he whines. "You're all burnt, too."

"I'm Irish. We don't tan well." Jimmy notices the shameless erection against his ass, and there's no way he's not going to say something about it. "My, my, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Robert goes redder somehow, which Jimmy didn't even think was possible, and his gaze darts away. "You're on top of me. 'S hard not to."

" _Hard_ , huh?" Jimmy has to toy with that, and he grinds his hips against the monster of an erection Robert's sporting for him. Robert gasps a noise of want, writhing beneath him, and Jimmy lays a hand on Robert's chest to still his movement, leaving sticky fingerprints on his skin. "That's what you get for pushing me off the inner tube."

Robert pouts, and Jimmy smears gel on his overheated arms and chest. He climbs off when he's finished, and Robert turns around so Jimmy can coat his back. Jimmy tucks himself up close, his gel-covered hands moving slowly and gently over Robert's tender skin. Robert sighs contentedly, sort of sinking into Jimmy's touch, and Jimmy puts a bit more pressure into his hands, his thumbs rubbing along the outline of Robert's shoulder blades. Robert groans a happy noise. "Jimmy 'Magic Fingers' Page."

Jimmy smirks and murmurs into Robert's ear, "Remember what else I can do with these hands?"

Jimmy's on his back with Robert rubbing gel onto his arms when Bonzo bursts out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, and holds up what looks like the sad, soggy remains of a condom. Jimmy's upside down, so he can't really tell. "You guys, it comes off!" Bonzo announces gleefully. It takes Jimmy a moment to realize that's his fucking blistered skin, and that's when Bonzo decides to throw it at them.

"Fucking sick!" Jimmy shouts, smacking the rubbery skin away as it lands somewhere near him on the bed. Robert's laughing like he finds this hilarious. "You're deranged!"

Bonzo approaches the bed, standing over Jimmy, but he's looking at Robert. "You wanna do me next?"

Jimmy frowns, taking issue with the wording. "I'm not sure I like the idea of my boyfriend rubbing cream on you."

"I won't do nothin' to him," Bonzo says. "'Less he asks me to, then all bets are off."

"Jesus Christ," Jimmy laments.

Robert giggles like a goddamn schoolgirl, tucking his hair behind his ears. "Well, I'm flattered, but my heart belongs to Pagey."

A warm lump forms in Jimmy's throat.

"What about your ass? You ever consider a threesome?"

Jimmy buries his face in his hands and groans, "I'm surrounded by cocksuckers!"

* * *

The next afternoon, they get blazed on marijuana in the SeaWorld parking lot before heading inside, because there's something pretty great about walking through an aquarium while high. At least that's the reasoning Bonzo used for lighting up a toke, which was enough of an argument for Robert to follow suit. Jimmy joined them, not wanting to be left out, because being the only sober person in the group is a huge drag.

He doesn't see what the big deal is. Maybe pot's just losing its effectiveness on him, but Jimmy isn't too impressed by whatever effect the weed's having. "We should've done mushrooms instead," he says as they're staring at a huge shark swimming its way through the underwater tunnel.

"Well, we don't have any," Bonzo says, clearly disappointed by their limited selection of mind-altering substances.

"And that's good," Robert chides, patting Jimmy's arm. "Pagey doesn't need any sort of temptation like that."

Jimmy hates feeling like he's being coddled, but he likes the idea that Robert's looking out for him. "I thought marijuana was supposed to be the gateway drug."

"No one's ever died from a pot overdose," Robert points out before a stingray floats by and captures his attention.

They ride the Sky Tower, and the weed definitely adds something to the experience, because instead of being 400 feet off the ground it looks like maybe a thousand. Jimmy panics, his fear of heights kicking in like a turbine engine, and Robert has to rub his back and remind him it's only an illusion, that they're not really this high up.

Then the floor begins to spin. It's enough for Jimmy to lose his balance, and he feels his center of gravity slide forward before Robert and Bonzo right him by winding an arm around Jimmy's own and pulling him back. "Please tell me you guys feel that," Jimmy rasps.

"Yeah, we're moving," Bonzo says, casually, like this isn't freaking him out at all.

"There's no need to be scared, Pagey. You can't fall out. The door's closed."

"That doesn't mean the cables holding this thing won't snap and send us plummeting to our doom," Jimmy worries, which in no way makes everyone standing near them turn to look at him.

"He's afraid of heights," Robert says by way of explanation. He turns to Jimmy and reminds him, "You went on that parachute thing, remember?"

"That wasn't this high." Jimmy leans in and hisses, "And neither was I!" into Robert's ear. He knows the weed is fucking with his depth perception, but it's still freaking him out.

Robert laughs at the unintentional rhyme longer than he probably would if he were sober. Robert's laughter makes Bonzo chuckle, then the two of them are standing there laughing for entirely different reasons, and Jimmy hates them both and wishes the earth would stop moving beneath his feet.

When the ride's over and they're steady on the ground again, Jimmy's muscles loosen up from their tense knots of panic, sweat prickling on his skin. Robert buys him a funnel cake at a snack stand, "because you can't be too upset when you've got sweets," he says, shoving the fried treat into Jimmy's hands. Jimmy realizes he's being treated a bit like a mentally handicapped child, but, whatever, free food.

There's really no way to eat a funnel cake that doesn't leave you covered in powdered sugar, as Jimmy soon discovers. By the time he's finished eating, his fingers and the front of his black t-shirt are dusted with white powder, and it makes him laugh hard enough that Bonzo and Robert look like they're questioning his sanity. "Well, this looks familiar," Jimmy says, and Robert just sighs and says, "Pagey," like he's embarrassed Jimmy made a cocaine joke in front of his new friend.

Bonzo guffaws and slaps Jimmy on the back. "I didn't think you had a sense of humor, Princess Page!" For Bonzo to understand that joke, Robert must have told him about Jimmy's coke problem. Should Jimmy be upset about that?

"You're never going to stop calling me that, are you?" Jimmy doesn't know why he bothered asking; he knows the answer.

Bonzo grins and says, "Nope."

"Well, then." This must be his punishment for the "Sunflower" moniker.

They walk around a little longer until they've seen everything the park has to offer. As they're leaving, Jimmy sidles up close to Robert and murmurs, "So, you told him about the coke thing?"

"I felt like he should know," Robert says, looking sheepish. "He said something to me once like, 'Twitchy sumbitch, ain't he?' and I thought explaining about your, um, addiction might be beneficial."

"You know it takes two to three days for the blood to be completely free of coke, right?"

"How do you know that?"

Jimmy shrugs. "I might have done some research. But we're well past the withdrawal point. Now you should focus on stopping me from getting more."

"We go everywhere together," Robert says, cheerful and dismissive. "I never take my eyes off you."

"Even when you're sleeping?" Jimmy says with a wink, sliding into the driver's seat of the van.

* * *

During the hour-and-a-half drive down to Tampa, Bonzo grows restless in the back of the van and starts rummaging through the boxes of various possessions Jimmy's brought along with him. "You break it, you buy it," Jimmy warns, tossing quick glances at him in the rear-view mirror.

"I won't break nothin'," Bonzo says, sorting through Jimmy's record collection. "Man, I ain't even heard of some of these bands."

"Says the man in the Allman Brothers t-shirt," Jimmy says derisively.

Bonzo looks at Robert. "Nothin' sadder than a man who thinks the music he likes makes him a better person than the next guy."

Jimmy rolls his eyes. "Eat a dick."

"As long as it ain't yours," Bonzo says with shrug, turning his attention back to the albums. "Roy Harper? Fairport Convention? The Yardbirds?"

Panic rises in Jimmy's belly at the last name, a profound sense of loss and sadness that knocks him askew. After the break-up with Jeff, Jimmy spent time going through his drawers and bookcases, getting rid of everything tainted with memories of Jeff. Polaroids, ticket stubs, useless trinkets, carnival prizes Jeff won for him. In his closet he found the threadbare white t-shirt Jeff had been wearing the first time they ventured into awkward, clumsy foreplay. They'd climbed into Jeff's bed, kissing fervently, and Jeff pulled off his shirt, and Jimmy's hands explored the peaks and valleys of his body. Even now, he can still remember the copper taste of Jeff's skin. Jimmy had worn the shirt back home, and he wonders if Jeff kept the one Jimmy had been wearing that evening.

Jimmy had discarded all of those things, but he doesn't know why he kept the Yardbirds records. Maybe it's some twisted form of masochism that caused him to hold on, an impersonal reminder that what they shared was real, at least for a short, blistering summer.

Robert's voice breaks him from his reverie. "Uh, Pagey?"

"What?"

"You missed the exit."

"The Tampa exit?"

"No, the exit for the loo."

"Oh... Well, there'll be another one." Robert frowns at Jimmy, but that doesn't deter him. "Y'know, if you didn't drink about three-hundred gallons of liquid at every gas station, you probably wouldn't have to go to the bathroom so often."

"Shut up, I get thirsty," Robert says, folding his arms over his chest.

Bonzo's lost interest in the albums, and now he's sifting through another box. "What's with these old books?" he asks as he cracks one open.

"Don't touch those!" Jimmy shrieks. "They're first editions!" The box is loaded with rare and antique books on magic and the occult that he's collected over the years. "Any one of those books is worth more than you are."

"Pagey, that's not very nice."

Bonzo ignores Jimmy's dramatics. "So why're you keepin' 'em in a van?"

Jimmy's not an idiot; he brings the books inside the motel room each night so a wayward thief doesn't steal them out of the van. If he ever gets desperate for cash, he can probably part with one or two of them. "Because I moved out of my apartment."

This is news to Robert. "You did?"

"Yeah, I didn't think I'd be coming back. I figured I'd find my life's purpose or whatever on this trip and settle down somewhere else."

"Oh, that's... interesting." Before Jimmy can poke at that, Robert says: "Hey, here comes another exit! Don't miss it this time!"

* * *

Busch Gardens is definitely something to be experienced while high, because the incessant squawking of tropical birds takes on an otherworldly atmosphere, like you're in the seventh circle of bird hell. Jimmy's kind of entranced by it until they're a good mile or two away. He can still hear the screeching, and he can't tell if he's really hearing it or if the sound's just stuck in his ganja-soaked brain.

They have lunch at a Jamaican barbecue shack where Robert orders more food than he should be capable of eating in one sitting. Their waitress, a petite little thing named Audrey, flirts excessively with him, which Jimmy finds kind of hilarious. "Jerk chicken? Honey, that'll destroy your mouth," she says, her hips tilting toward him.

A sly smile creeps over Robert's lips. "Care to make a wager on that?"

Audrey mistakes this as a flirtation, but Jimmy remembers the way Robert hustled the bikers at the bar in Birmingham with his airheaded Brit act. This is a swindle, and Jimmy sits back, eager to see where this goes.

"Five bucks says it's too hot for you," she says with a wink, clearing the table of their menus, and Jimmy doesn't miss the exaggerated sway of her hips as she walks away. Robert, of course, doesn't even seem to notice, smiling at Jimmy like he's the only thing in the world.

"What are you up to, Sunflower?" Jimmy asks, sipping at his beer.

"It's a secret," Robert says.

Bonzo says, "I vaguely remember somethin' like this gettin' you into a bit of trouble back in Birmingham."

Robert looks at him. "You were watching that? I thought you only got involved once the violence started."

"Nah, you were entertaining. And pretty hard to miss."

"Are you sure it wasn't because of your crush on him, you giant homo?" Jimmy pipes up.

"I ain't ashamed of that."

"It doesn't bother you that he wants to jump your bones?" Jimmy says to Robert.

"Why should it? It means he likes me!"

"I don't know if your mom ever told you this,  _Roberta_ , but just because a boy wants to have sex with you doesn't mean he values you as a person."

Bonzo snorts a laugh into his beer mug, getting foamy suds in his mustache.

Robert tilts his head the way a dog does when it hears a strange sound. "Is that advice you wish someone had given you?"

Jimmy blanches. "Wow, baby, that's cold."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay."

Jimmy wonders how much differently his life would have turned out had his mother sat him down and given him that talk. He assumed Jeff's constant hands-on approach and eager physical overtures indicated some deep-set love for Jimmy. Because Jimmy figured it was different for two men, that once you got over the initial ickiness of sexually desiring another man, well, you must be feeling something pretty special. No one ever told him "practice boys" existed, too.

Once the food arrives, Jimmy and Bonzo pay special attention to Robert, curious how he'll handle the spicy meal. He doesn't seem bothered by it at all, as though English food is awash in peppers. Jimmy's kind of amazed that Robert's so indifferent to the heat infused in the marinade.

Robert glances up from his plate, fixes Jimmy with concern. "Pagey, you're sweating."

"Shut up, it's hot in here," he grumbles, refusing to admit the beads of sweat prickling on his forehead stem from the spicy food. He chugs his beer to make his tongue stop burning. "How can you eat this?"

Robert smiles sagely, leaning in as though he's about to reveal a government secret. "When I lived in England, my best friend was a girl from India. So I'm quite used to spicy food. Her parents invited me over for dinner all the time. They loved me 'cause they didn't have to worry I'd deflower their daughter," he says with a wink.

Jimmy grins to himself. He knew Robert had an ace up his sleeve. "You would make an excellent con man."

"How do you think I supported myself when I was homeless?" Robert says, and Jimmy's mind is blown.

When Audrey stops by their table to drop off the check she marvels, "Well, you sure made a fool of me, honey!" She reaches into her apron and plucks out a wrinkled five-dollar bill, sets it on the table in the space where Robert's plate had been. "Everything taste good?"

"Yeah, I think the burning's stopped," Jimmy says.

Audrey laughs, good-naturedly, a little unsure how to respond. So, the usual response to Jimmy's dry humor.

"You wouldn't happen to know anyplace to go around here for fun?" Bonzo asks.

"Well, there's a party every night on Venice Beach. It's about an hour away, a little past Sarasota."

Jimmy's totally down with that, because where there's a party there's alcohol.

After they pay the check, Jimmy notices Robert leaves the five-dollar bill as a tip underneath the salt and pepper shakers on the table, and he's filled with a deep pang of love.


	11. Moondance

Jimmy pulls them onto Venice Beach as the sun's descending below the horizon, and he's surprised to see how many other people are here. The beach is crowded, filled with teenagers and twenty-somethings yearning to wring out the last fading moments of summer. A volleyball net has been erected in the sand, and the long stretch of beach is dotted with little concession shacks.

They change into beachwear in the back of the van, and the sand is powdery soft beneath Jimmy's feet. Robert drags Jimmy to the volleyball net and seamlessly integrates himself into the game. Jimmy, however, isn't so lucky, since he's a walking disaster when it comes to physical sports.

"You, um, you don't want me to play," he says, feeling inferior among these tanned, toned men and women. He looks at Robert. "What about Bonzo? He'd probably be more help." Jimmy turns, certain Bonzo had been following them, but he's nowhere to be found. "Oh shit, we lost Bonzo."

Jimmy gets wrangled into playing volleyball because his team needs an extra player. Robert is more adept at the sport than Jimmy, who seems to miss the ball disproportionately more often than anyone else. Then again, no one else on his team sucks, so there's that.

A cute young blonde near him smiles at him and says, "You know you're s'posed to actually hit the ball, right?"

"Gee, thanks, I was trying to figure out what I was doing wrong."

She giggles, and Jimmy can't help but notice the beads of sweat trickling down her glistening chest and into the small crevice of her barely-there cleavage. Her features are bright and youthful, and Jimmy doubts she's older than eighteen. He treats it as a personal victory that he still has the ability to be attracted to a female.

She whips forward to spike the ball back over the net, her core muscles tightening. "I'm Bebe."

"Jimmy."

"What happened to your face?" she asks, staring at the fading, yellowish-green bruise on his jaw. "Bad serve?"

"I got in a fight."

"Did you win?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Bebe gives him a sly smile, her glance darting to where Robert's leaping into the air to serve the ball. "Who's your friend?"

Jimmy feels a childish surge of fear that Bebe isn't interested in him at all, that she only approached Jimmy as a tactic to get closer to Robert, but he knows that's ridiculous. Robert isn't intimidating at all; people gravitate towards him. It's the way he and the world interact.

"Oh, Robert? He's... a friend."

"A friend, huh?" Bebe lifts a perfectly-plucked eyebrow, her luscious lips drawn into a smirk, and Jimmy feels his mouth go dry.

That's when the volleyball crashes into Jimmy's face. Jimmy goes down hard, stunned and tasting blood as dark spots appear in his vision. Bebe gasps, and a voice from the other side of the net cries, "I'm so sorry!"

"Pagey?" Robert rushes through the sand and kneels at Jimmy's side, ever the concerned boyfriend. "You're bleeding!"

"No shit," Jimmy coughs out, trying to breathe through the copper salt of blood filling his mouth. He runs his tongue over his teeth, ascertains they're all there. Thank Christ.

Someone scurries over to him, his gentle hands tilting Jimmy's head to assess the damage. "Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—Does it hurt?"

"Not yet," Jimmy manages. He tries to stand up, but the soft-spoken stranger helps lift him to his feet. He's surprisingly strong for a skinny guy.

"But it will. Come on, I'll get you some ice to put on that."

Jimmy nods and follows him, stanching the flow of blood with his hand, leaving a trail of crimson drops on the pearly-white sand.

The sun's a mere sliver on the horizon, night creeping up on the beach, but the party's still in full swing. He passes by a newly-lit bonfire, dodges a few empty cans and bottles littered in the way. "I am  _so_  sorry," the stranger apologizes again. His hair is long and light brown, faint freckles dotting the landscape of his nose and cheeks.

"You got a strong serve," Jimmy points out, good-humored. "What's your name?"

"John Paul Jones."

"Oh yeah? Is your brother's name George Ringo?"

He gives Jimmy a tired look, like he's heard that joke a million times too many.

"Well, I already know a John, so we're gonna have to come up with somethin' else real quick. How about Jones?"

"That's fine, I guess." Jones leads him to a concession stand and asks for a bag of ice.

"I'm Jimmy, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Jimmy." Jones takes the ice and some napkins, and they sit against the side of the concession stand. "I wish it had been under better circumstances."

"Hell, this isn't even the first time I've been hit this week," Jimmy says, holding the bag of ice to his nose.

Jones scoots in the sand so he's facing Jimmy, his thumb and forefinger pinching the soft part of Jimmy's nose shut. Jimmy gives him a questioning look, and Jones explains, "It's best to apply pressure." He offers Jimmy some napkins in his free hand, and Jimmy uses them to wipe away the drippings. Jimmy attempts to tip his head back, but Jones says, "No, no, you're not s'posed to do that."

"Says who?"

"Well, me. I'm a doctor."

"Shouldn't you be wearing gloves, Doc?"

Jones shrugs. "We're making the best of a bad situation, I'm afraid."

Jimmy stretches his legs out in the sand. "You look awful young for a doctor."

"I'm thirty-one."

"Fuck you, no, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You look twenty-five, tops."

Jones goes all blushy and flustered, glancing off and finding something particularly interesting in the sand. "I think you might have some head trauma."

"That  _was_  a hell of a serve," Jimmy says. "So, do you live around here?"

"No, I'm on a, uh, extended vacation. I didn't get to take time off before college 'cause of the war. My dad wanted me in school so I wasn't as likely to be drafted."

Jimmy smirks. "Hey, me too."

"He's a surgeon, so I thought I'd get into the medical field, too. But I wanted to go off and see the world before I, I dunno, give in to the finality of having found my career."

"How's the world tour working out for you?"

"Well, I've only made it from Ohio to Florida, so, not very well, I guess."

"Anything worth seeing on that route?"

Jones pauses for a moment. "Atlanta's nice."

"Been there."

"Oh, well, um, you could try Cincinnati. 'Swhere I'm from. We've got some good food."

"Oh God," Jimmy groans. "Don't tell Robert, he'll never let me hear the end of it."

"Is Robert the giant blond guy who was with you?"

Jimmy actually got so comfortable talking with Jones he'd forgotten he's not actually part of their little group. "Oh, yeah, that's the one."

Bonzo's voice sounds from above them. "Whoa, Princess, what the hell happened to you?"

Jones startles, turning to face the hulking man leaning against the edge of the shack. He blushes again, his free hand fussing with his hair as he diverts his eyes. Bonzo looks at Jones, an amused smirk on his lips. "Did you punch him?"

Jones looks offended by the question. "N—no, it was an accident!"

Bonzo laughs, loud and hearty, and, yep, he's been drinking. "Hey, I'm the last person who'll judge you for knockin' him around. I've been wanting to do it myself."

"I didn't punch him," Jones corrects. "We were playing volleyball, and I accidentally hit him in the face with the ball."

Another laugh. "Shit, that's even better! Lemme shake your hand!" Bonzo reaches out, and Jones takes his hand, because that's what you do. It's awkward, but neither of them seem to mind. "What's your name?"

"John Paul Jones."

"I've been calling him Jones."

Bonzo introduces himself. "John Bonham. But you can just call me Bonzo."

Jones looks from Jimmy to Bonzo, as though searching for a way out of this ridiculous cult he's suddenly been inducted into. "Do you all give each other silly nicknames?"

Bonzo thinks it over. "Yeah, pretty much." He's staring at Jones for a moment, then: "What's with the necklace?"

"Oh, this?" Jones tugs at the string of shark teeth around his neck. "Venice Beach is s'posed to be the best place to collect shark's teeth, so..." He trails off, shrugs. "I found these in the sand last night."

"You from around here?"

Jones opens his mouth to answer that just as Robert comes bounding up to their little troupe. "Oh, Pagey, there you are! Is your nose alright?" he asks, kneeling in the sand to assess the damage to Jimmy's face.

"I'll live," Jimmy says through the way Jones is still pinching his nose shut.

"I think he'll be fine," Jones chimes in. "You must be Robert."

"You've heard of me?" Robert says, looking pleased that he's become a minor celebrity.

"Jimmy might've mentioned you."

"And you are...?"

"Jones," he says with a sheepish smile. "At least that's what they're calling me."

"Well, that won't do. How about Jonesy?"

Jimmy sighs. "Robert, you can't just add a 'y' to the end of someone's name and call it a nickname."

Jones smiles, approving of his new moniker. "Jonesy is good." And thus Jones has now become Jonesy.

"So, Robert," Bonzo cuts in. "You saw it." He gestures with his chin to Jimmy's busted face. "Was it every bit as amazing as I'm imagining?"

Robert scowls at him. "Don't be a brute."

"I don't know how to be anything else."

"That's rubbish and you know it."

Jonesy gently relieves the pressure on Jimmy's nose, his hand retreating. "The bleeding should have stopped by now," he says. "Just make sure to put ice on it to keep the swelling down."

"Is it broken?" Jimmy asks.

"I don't think so. But keep an eye on it, just in case. If it keeps bleeding or you have trouble breathing, you might want to go to the hospital."

"Thanks," Jimmy says, wiping caked blood off his upper lip. "For the TLC, not for hitting me in the face."

Bonzo laughs and slaps a hand on Jonesy's shoulder. Jonesy flinches a bit until he realizes who's touching him, then he relaxes. "I'd like to thank you for hittin' him," Bonzo says. "Lemme buy you a beer. Or some shrimp skewers. You look a little young to be drinkin'."

"Okay, I  _know_  I don't look  _that_  young," Jonesy says, but he stands up and follows Bonzo in the direction of the grill.

Robert watches them leave before turning his attention back to Jimmy. "I think our Bonzo might fancy little Jonesy."

Jimmy snorts a laugh, which sort of hurts, and he fears it might trigger another nosebleed. "Y'know, Sunflower, just 'cause you're a giant queer doesn't mean everybody is."

Robert's unaffected by Jimmy's jabs at his sexuality by now. "He flirts with me a lot," he says, like he's making a point.

"I think he just does that to make me jealous."

"He invited him for a drink in a date-like sort of way. I mean, he didn't even ask us if we wanted to come."

Jimmy rolls his eyes and finds his footing, stands on shaky legs. "Alright, let's entertain the notion Bonzo might be a raging homo. What are the odds Jonesy is, too?"

Robert shrugs. "I never said he was. Just that Bonzo seems to like him."

Jimmy discards the ice pack and the bloody napkins in a nearby wastebasket. The sun has disappeared, and a thick curtain of darkness hangs over the beach. The moon shimmers atop the soothing, calm waves. If he listens carefully, he can hear faint music playing on a transistor radio.

"I wanna go in the water," Robert says. "You should come with me."

They walk down the beach and reach the waterline. Jimmy squishes his toes in the wet sand where the surf has receded. Robert dashes in with childlike glee, splashing through until he's submerged up to his knees. "C'mon, Pagey," he encourages, and Jimmy steps gingerly into the tranquil, warm water. Robert keeps going, stopping only when his shoulders disappear under the surf. Jimmy follows, precariously, but he can stretch out a foot and feel the sand beneath his toes, so he doesn't panic too much.

They float together, seemingly miles away from the world. Here, buoying in the deeper water, they are genderless specks in the distance, and knowing this fills Jimmy with courage. Robert slides a hand around Jimmy's waist and pulls him closer, and they stare at the moon high in the sky. "'S beautiful out," Robert murmurs, his face turned into the wind, and his wild curls sway in the gentle breeze.

"Yeah." Jimmy leans his head against's Robert's own, and they're quiet for a moment, admiring the beauty of the night. "You know that Bob Dylan song, 'Tangled Up In Blue'? I kind of imagined my life being something like that, y'know, roaming from place to place, taking odd jobs to make ends meet, all in pursuit of a great love. I always figured by the time I was this old I'd've discovered where I want to go, what I want to do with my life. But I'm thirty-three, and I'm nowhere. I don't have a career, I don't have a family. Every year on Christmas and my birthday, my mother calls and asks why I'm not married or at least seeing someone."

"He's a real nowhere man," Robert sings, "sitting in his nowhere land—"

"'Thanks,' he said, sarcastically."

Robert tugs him closer, his fingers stroking Jimmy's hip bone. "If you're nowhere, then so am I. I don't have any of those things either."

"You're still young."

"I'll be twenty-nine in thirteen days."

"You've still got time. Christ, you're not even thirty."

Robert chooses not to debate that particular angle. "Maybe you're just behind schedule," he says in his ridiculous accent that drops the "c" in the last word, and Jimmy will never stop finding it endearing. "Y'know, it's like you said about how certain things need to happen at particular times in a movie. Maybe the movie of your life is poorly edited, so your big moment hasn't happened yet."

Jimmy smiles, amazed Robert even remembered that. "So how the hell do I catch up?"

"Well, you don't. It seems like you just have to let it run its course."

"But isn't that what I've been doing the last thirty-three years? Just coasting through life and seeing what happens?"

"Is it?" Robert asks innocently. "Only you know for sure."

"You're gonna think I'm an asshole for saying this, but I'm pretty sure this is all Jeff's fault."

"Because he left you? C'mon, Pagey. People get broke up with all the time."

"People like you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Right, because you're so well-adjusted. You came along with me on this aimless trip. You're just as fucked up as I am."

Robert shrugs, disturbing the water around him. "Maybe. But I don't think one unfortunate thing that happened to me ought to define me. And you shouldn't either. You're better than that."

"So what the fuck do I do about this rut I'm in? Somewhere out there is the life I'm supposed to be living, and I don't know how to find it."

"Fate is already written," Robert says, draping a wet arm around Jimmy's shoulders and bringing him closer. They're close enough now that Jimmy could easily move in and kiss him, so he does. It's a lot gentler than he's used to, due to his bruised face, but Robert seems to enjoy it, his mouth curling into a smile at the edges. Jimmy can taste the beer on his breath, and somehow that makes him want Robert even more. He pushes a hand underneath Robert's hair, fingers curling around the base of his neck. Robert captures Jimmy's bottom lip between his teeth, and Jimmy groans, consumed by want. Out here in the water, far enough away from the shore to be indistinguishable, Jimmy eases his hand into Robert's shorts. Robert sighs in Jimmy's ear, and Jimmy tugs and strokes him to completion.

After Robert returns the favor, time seems to stand still. They float through the water, and Jimmy listens to Robert tell stories of his childhood in England. Robert could be talking about calculus or nuclear physics, and Jimmy would still listen, enraptured. He loves the sound of Robert's voice, loves the way he giggles when he realizes he's started to ramble. In this moment, Jimmy is stricken with a sense of peace regarding his future, because no matter where he ends up, as long as Robert is with him all the other puzzle pieces will click together in time. Jimmy wants to tell him this, wants to reach out and take Robert's face in his hands and share this love washing warmly over him, but he knows it will only shatter the moment they've created here, so he keeps it to himself.

The crowd on the beach has thinned out by the time Robert and Jimmy emerge from the water. Jimmy doesn't know how much time has passed, but his fingers are shriveled like prunes. They walk side by side along the beach, collecting sand on the soles of their damp feet. "Does my face look bad?" Jimmy asks. "Be honest."

Robert looks at him with no judgement. "You've got a bit of a bruise," he says in a way that tells Jimmy the bruise is horrific.

"Fuck."

"But I think you look lovely. A great car is still great even if it's got a couple dings, right?"

"You're comparing me to a car?"

"You could argue some of the parts are the same. Ignition, gearshift, undercarriage... Tailpipe."

Jimmy snickers, glancing around the beach for any familiar faces. "Where do you think Bonzo is?"

"I dunno. Why? You ready to call it a night?"

"Yeah, getting hit in the face always makes me sleepy."

"I'm sure we'll find him."

It takes about five minutes for them to navigate the dark and locate the spot where they parked the van. Jimmy thinks he hears voices coming from inside the van but writes it off as an auditory echo, the noise and chatter from the beach still ringing in his ears. As he moves closer, he can see vague shapes inside the van. Oh hell. If someone's broken in and smoked all their pot, Jimmy's gonna be pissed.

He's expecting a group of thieves or hoodlums rooting through his possessions, so when Jimmy slides open the door and sees a naked Bonzo with an equally nude Jonesy in his lap, he's doubly surprised. Jonesy, upon being discovered, makes a terrified squeaking noise and clutches his arms tighter around Bonzo, using Bonzo's gelatinous gut to hide his own thin frame.

"Ah—fuck—Jesus—put a fucking sock on the door!" Jimmy shrieks, averting his eyes. There's something jolting and disturbing about witnessing the sex of others, especially when those involved happen to be your friends.

Robert comes around to the side of the van, sees Bonzo and Jonesy tangled in awkward mid-coitus, and barks a laugh. "How's that for a nice, tall pint of 'I told you so!'" he gloats at Jimmy.

"Are you seriously—For Christ's sake, they fucked in my van!" The only person who has any business having sex in Jimmy's van is Jimmy himself. The fact that someone else christened it before him is unthinkable.

"Sorry," Bonzo says, sounding not at all sorry. Jimmy tries very hard not to look at the way Jonesy and Bonzo are, uh,  _connected_. "We didn't think you guys'd come back this early."

Jonesy tucks his hair behind his ears and keeps his gaze on the van floor. He won't be recovering from this untimely intrusion anytime soon. "I really wish we didn't keep meeting like this."

"At least you didn't hit him again," Robert says, trying to be helpful.

"I'd rather he hit me!"

"I'll hit you," Bonzo volunteers.

"No one's hitting Pagey!"

"Look, Jim, why don't you just shut the door, and we'll get dressed and talk about this, okay?" Bonzo says in a surprising display of rational thinking.

"Fine." Jimmy's all too happy to slam the door on the grotesque business he's borne witness to. He fumes and starts pacing in the empty parking spot beside them.

"Babe, why are you so upset? Because they shagged in your van?"

"Fucking duh, Robert."

"So just make them clean it."

Jimmy's absolutely going to do that, but the solution doesn't make him feel any better.

Robert approaches him, lays his hands on Jimmy's shoulders. "You think maybe you're jealous?"

"Of  _what_?"

"Well, we've been together longer than they've even known each other, yet they were..." Robert gestures in way that's supposed to suggest some sexual perversion Jimmy isn't familiar with. "Well, you saw them."

"Unfortunately, yes." Jimmy will never unsee that. The dimpled flesh, the wide-open orifices, the glistening organs, the copious amount of hair. "What's your point? We've had sex. I just jerked you off in the Gulf of Mexico, goddamn it."

Robert smiles at the memory. "We've never had sex like that," he says, indicating whatever the hell went on in that van. "Maybe you're jealous of how easy it was for them to shag."

Jimmy makes a face. "This is by far the stupidest thing you've ever said."

"Well, you can't possibly be this upset because your van hosted their intercourse."

"God, don't call it that!"

The van door slides open, and Bonzo emerges, fully clothed. "Sorry you guys had to see that."

"Don't apologize," Jimmy says. "Just pay my therapy bills."

Bonzo rolls his eyes, clearly a hundred percent done with Jimmy's sass. "Look, we'll be more than happy to clean up in there if that's what's got your panties in a twist."

"Now that I've seen what happens when you two're in my van, maybe that's not such a great idea."

Robert steps in front of Jimmy, sort of edging him out of the conversation. "He'll be fine with that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Legally, no. Morally?"

Bonzo nudges Robert aside so he can bear down on Jimmy. "You are the biggest fuckin' hypocrite. How can you stand there and give me shit for fuckin' a dude, but you'll go back to your motel room with him"—he jerks a thumb at Robert—"and do all sorts of gay shit?"

"You've missed the point entirely! You just took advantage of our goodwill and assumed you could use my van like it's yours. How would you like it if I waltzed into your house and fucked Robert right on your bed?"

Bonzo thinks about that for a moment. "Do I get to watch?"

Jimmy snorts an angry breath through his nostrils like a cartoon bull.

"I guess this is a really bad time to mention I think we ought'a take Jonesy with us," Bonzo says.

Jimmy lunges at him, but Robert gets between them and manages to restrain Jimmy. "Pagey, think about it. This could be good for us."

"Just let me hit him," Jimmy growls. "He's been begging for it."

"No. We're solving this non-violently."

"Fuck your hippie bullshit, Robert."

"I'm not letting you get your arse kicked again."

Jimmy struggles in Robert's arms.

"Now just think about this," Robert says. "If Jonesy and Bonzo come with us, they'll want their privacy together, right? Which means they'll get their own motel room. Which also means  _we'll_  have a room to ourselves."

Jimmy hates that Robert's right, but the idea of a cross-country trip as a couple seemed perfect. No one else to worry about but each other, never being interrupted by a drunk or cock-blocking friend. Then Bonzo came along and shot that plan to hell.

But bringing Jonesy would give Bonzo something to do instead of bothering Jimmy and Robert. He won't be the third wheel anymore, awkwardly trying to fit himself into moments where his presence is a hindrance. It's the option that makes the most sense, if Jimmy could just put aside his petty anger and whatever the hell else he's feeling.

"Alright, alright, fine," Jimmy concedes through his teeth. "He can come with us. But only— _only_ —because I want to get laid too at some point. This is purely a selfish decision on my part."

Bonzo grins, and Jimmy feels a pang of satisfaction before shaking it off. "I'll go tell him the good news," Bonzo says, heading back to the van.

Robert's smiling at Jimmy like a proud parent. He releases Jimmy from the cage of his arms, instead taking hold of Jimmy's hands. "You're a good man, Pagey."

Jimmy scowls and looks away. "No, I'm not."

"I think you are," Robert boasts, laying a hand over Jimmy's chest where his heart beats underneath the skin. "You're just afraid someone might take advantage of you. So you put on this 'I'm a huge tosser' act so no one ever tries."

"An interesting theory. Here's another: I could actually be a huge tosser, and you want desperately to believe I'm not because you have big gay crush on me."

"Mm, 's'possible, but I like to think I've developed into a good judge of character."

"So if Bonzo or Jonesy turn out to be serial killers, I'm blaming you."

"Sounds fair!" Robert says, leading him back to the van.

They get a room at the motel where Jonesy's staying. Bonzo disappears into Jonesy's room, which, conveniently enough, is right beside Jimmy and Robert's. Jimmy hauls his belongings into the room and promptly drops onto the bed, exhausted. Robert lies next to him, and they stare at the ceiling together. Jimmy lets his fingers play in the fuzz on Robert's stomach, memorizing the feel of his body underneath his fingertips.

"What do you wanna do tomorrow?" Jimmy asks, teasing a finger around Robert's navel. "You wanna stay here for a day or two, or go down to Miami, or what?"

"I'm gettin' a bit tired of beaches," Robert says with an uneasy smile. "I'm no stranger to 'em, y'know, living in California for half a year."

Los Angeles isn't too far from Santa Monica, and even though Jimmy never ventured to the beach, he can see how Robert would be drawn to it. "Maybe we should head up north. Jonesy tells me Cincinnati has good food."

"Oh, wonderful! I'm always up for a good meal."

Jimmy can't help but be amused. "What's your obsession with food? Were you a fat kid in another life?"

"Homeless, remember?"

Jimmy feels like a douchebag. "Oh, shit, yeah." It makes sense why Robert orders so much food at restaurants and eats like he doesn't know when his next meal will be.

"I didn't always hustle snooker for money, though. When I was staying with some mates, I had a job in a restaurant as a cook."

Jimmy turns his head to look at him. "No shit? Seriously?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Robert asks with a curious smile.

"It isn't, really. It's very... domestic." Jimmy briefly allows himself a moment to imagine the two of them living together: Jimmy coming home from some mystery dream job and Robert greeting him with kisses and a warm, home-cooked meal. "I guess I always pictured you doing something adventurous and crazy."

"Like working in a record shop?"

Jimmy gives him a playful shove. "You know what I mean. Why'd you work at Swan Song anyway if you could've been a cook?"

Robert shrugs. "I wanted to try something new. I s'pose I'm adventurous in that way."

Jimmy smiles and settles his head against Robert's shoulder. They lie there in comfortable silence, and it's so quiet that they both hear the muffled voices on the other side of the wall.

"Harder, fuck me harder," Jonesy begs.

There's a low groan Jimmy assumes is Bonzo's. Jimmy and Robert look at each other. Robert bursts into giggles, smothering the sounds with his hand. They listen to Jonesy's short, high-pitched moans and Bonzo's grunts for a moment, entirely unsure if they should keep eavesdropping or switch on the radio and drown out the noise.

"Wow, these walls are really thin," Robert marvels through giggles.

"Yes, yes, right there," Jonesy cries.

Robert looks at Jimmy again. "So Jonesy's a talker?"

"Shut up." Jimmy rises from the bed and slings his legs over the side.

"Where are you going?"

"To stop this fucking circus."

"No!" Robert cries, leaping up from the bed and bounding across the floor. "Don't be such a poor sport. Why don't we rinse off together? I'll wash your hair... and anything else you've got trouble reaching." Robert flashes him a smile filled with dirty promises, and Jimmy gives in.

Shower sex is one of those things that looks fun in porn but requires much more effort than it's worth. Jimmy finds himself sliding on the wet surface of the tub, his shoulder blades slipping against the slick tile as he clumsily jerks Robert's dick in his hand. Robert's clutching Jimmy's ass in one hand, the other braced against the wall, and he covers Jimmy's mouth with frantic kisses, gasping into the space between them until he comes.

When it's Jimmy's turn, Robert sinks to his knees and takes Jimmy's cock into his mouth, and Jimmy pushes his hips into it, the soles of his feet inching forward. Robert holds his hips, keeping him steady as Jimmy sways back and forth. Jimmy leans his head against the tile, hears his moans interspersed with the pounding spray of the shower. Robert hums around him, his tongue gliding along the bulging vein on the underside of Jimmy's dick.

Robert is better at giving head than anyone who's ever sucked Jimmy's cock. Jimmy thought the first time was a fluke, that he was so sensitive and needy his penis would've responded to even the sloppiest of blowjobs. But the second time around is proving that Robert's got some serious skills. His tongue swirls around the head of Jimmy's cock, flicking over the slit to taste the oozing pre-cum.

That's all it takes to get Jimmy there, and he comes with a shout, spurting white ribbons of ejaculate on Robert's cheek. Well, it's pretty much all over Robert's face, but Jimmy pays close attention to the stringy white dripping down his jaw.

"Fuck," Jimmy sighs out. "Sorry about that, Sunflower." He's given facials before—mostly on accident, though some women he's been with specifically requested it—but he doesn't remember it turning him on like this.

"'S alright, Pagey. I feel like teenager again."

And so does Jimmy, because not since he was a teenager was he able to achieve a second erection so soon after the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's Jonesy! Did it happen at all the way you thought it would? Also, since the story is from Jimmy's POV and that limits a lot of important Bonsy development, I would SO not be opposed to anyone writing fic for the missing Bonsy scenes *winkwinknudgenudge* I'm sure we're all curious how the conversation went that led to them getting into the van, right? :P


	12. On The Road Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to link you guys to the fanmix I posted last chapter! Spoiler-free, so no worries there: [click!](http://8tracks.com/sodium-amytal/page-plant-s-infinite-playlist)

The next morning, Jimmy refuses to leave the motel until he acquires something to hide his hideous facial bruising. Jonesy volunteers to buy some concealer from the pharmacy across the street, because the purple bruises under Jimmy's eyes are his fault. When Jonesy returns with the bottle, Bonzo finds Jimmy's situation hilarious. "Why don't you go all the way and buy a dress and some lipstick, too, Princess?"

"Fuck you," Jimmy growls as he storms into the motel bathroom, too tired to think of anything wittier.

They stop at a 7-Eleven for fuel and snacks. Jimmy finds Jonesy near the souvenir display. "Find anything good?"

"Just postcards," Jonesy says. "I've been sending one to my parents every now and then. I know they worry."

Jimmy wonders if his own parents even know he's gone. If they called his home phone and didn't get an answer, would they worry? What awful thoughts would run through their minds if they went to his apartment and found it empty with no forwarding address? He should reach out to them, at least let them know he's not dead in a ditch somewhere.

"Good idea," Jimmy murmurs, choosing one for himself.

Robert bounds over to them with a cherry-red Slurpee in hand. "What'cha guys doin'?"

"Postcards," Jimmy and Jonesy say in unison.

"What a great idea!" Robert plucks one from the wire rack, and Jimmy gives him a curious look.

"Who's it for? If you don't mind me asking."

"My mum," Robert says simply.

"I thought your parents kicked you out."

"Mum didn't really have much say in that decision. She never forgave my father, and after I moved to the States my parents separated."

Jimmy blinks. "Wow."

"Your father kicked you out of the house?" Jonesy asks, flabbergasted.

Robert nods, takes a sip of his drink. His lips are tainted a faint red from the dye.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

They fill out the postcards in the van. Jimmy's pretty straight-forward with his own, writing:  _Sorry I just took off, but I've been rambling across the country with a co-worker. Might be a mid-life crisis, but I'm okay. I'm not alone. See you when I see you, I guess._

He risks furtive glances in attempts to read Robert's card. What he sees there surprises him:  _Mumsie, I'm traveling the country with the best of company, and I am so, so in love. Will send pictures later. Hope you are well. All my love, Robert._

Jimmy finds himself smiling as he mails the postcards on the way out of town on I-75. Bonzo and Jonesy sit in the back of the van, propped against the pillows and folded blankets. In the rear-view mirror, Jimmy can see them leaning on each other, Jonesy's head lying on Bonzo's shoulder while they gaze out the windows.

"So, Jonesy," Jimmy starts, attempting to make conversation. "You and Bonzo? How'd that happen?"

"I'm still not really sure," Jonesy says with a laugh. "We just got to talking and ended up really liking each other."

"Obviously," Jimmy mutters under his breath.

Robert playfully smacks Jimmy's shoulder. "Pagey, don't be like that. I think it's sweet."

"You would, Mary Poppins."

"What about you?" Jonesy asks. "How long have you two been together?"

Jimmy thinks about it. "Almost a week."

"Seriously? You guys bicker like an old married couple."

"We worked together for six months," Jimmy explains. "So we know each other pretty well."

"Dude, you're a little married," Bonzo says with a laugh.

Jimmy can't stop thinking about Robert's postcard, the words "so, so in love" bouncing around in his brain. Robert isn't the type to keep his emotions inside, so Jimmy had a pretty good idea of how Robert might feel, but seeing it spelled out like that shocked Jimmy like no other. Robert loves him. Robert is  _in love_  with Jimmy.

Jimmy looks over at Robert, who's still sipping his drink as beads of condensation drip from the cup and onto his jeans. "Hey, what's your mother think about all this? I mean, does she support you?"

"Yeah, she's great. Why do you ask?"

He probably can't mention that he read Robert's postcard. That might give off the wrong impression. "Well, I was thinking, maybe you could send her some pictures from your trip. She might like to see all the places you've gone... the people you've met."

Robert grins in that whole-hearted way of his. "'S a great idea, Pagey! Would you—would you wanna take one with me sometime? I'm sure she'd love to see you."

"Sure thing, Sunflower."

The drive out of Florida takes about seven hours, and it's already nighttime when they roll into Savannah. For dinner, they find a cozy Southern kitchen with wooden furniture and comfort food, and the four of them crowd into a booth. Robert carefully studies the laminated menu until it's time for him to order. "I can't decide between the fried chicken or the crab cakes, so I'll have both. Also the fried okra, the macaroni, and a side of biscuits. Oh, and the pecan pie for dessert."

Jimmy buries his head in his hands. His boyfriend is  _embarrassing_ , and he knows enough to know Robert most likely means the entire pie.

Bonzo laughs and says, "I'll have what he's having."

Jimmy and Jonesy, on the other hand, don't order enough food to feed a small village. Jimmy's glad that there's at least one other person in their little group who isn't a human trash compactor. He sips his Dr. Pepper and bonds with Jonesy over their shared gluttonous-boyfriend dilemma.

"This is what you signed up for," Jimmy says. "Prepare to be embarrassed at literally every restaurant you guys go to."

Jonesy chuckles good-naturedly. "I don't mind it. I like dating someone who's got a healthy appetite. One less thing to worry about."

Jimmy thinks he sees Bonzo's expression suddenly fall, but it's hard to tell when he's in the middle of chugging a beer.

"Jonesy," Jimmy says, "remind me which states you've already gone through so we can skip the boring ones."

Jonesy thinks it over, toying with the paper straw wrapper. "Ohio, Kentucky, a bit of Tennessee, Georgia, and, of course, Florida."

Jimmy can't think of anything in Kentucky that might be worth seeing. Robert, however, has other ideas. "Does Kentucky Fried Chicken taste better in Kentucky?"

"Of course you would ask that," Jimmy sighs.

"Mm, I didn't really taste much of a difference," Jonesy says, amused by Robert's obsession with food. "But they do have some interesting dishes. There's the Hot Brown, which is a turkey and bacon sandwich broiled and covered in cheese sauce—"

Robert makes a nearly-sexual whining sound.

"And there's Kentucky barbecue, and Derby pie, and Bourbon balls..."

There's the magic word that snags Jimmy's attention. "Bourbon?"

"Yeah, Kentucky's pretty big on whiskey."

"And so am I. We're going," Jimmy announces, and no one at the table disagrees.

"What kind of food does Ohio have?" Robert asks, because apparently he's set on eating his way though the United States.

Jonesy's happy to talk about his home state, though. "Oh, well, the chili is really unique. It's not as thick as you see in Texas or anywhere else, really. It's usually served over hot dogs or spaghetti. Frisch's has an interesting take on the hamburger, and Graeter's ice cream is s'posed to be some of the best, but I don't really like sweets, so..." He shrugs.

"How can you not like sweets?" Robert asks, befuddled.

"I just don't," Jonesy says with a small laugh. "Everyone thinks I'm weird when I say that."

"'S not weird," Bonzo reassures him. "I don't have much of a sweet tooth either."

Jimmy might be a tiny bit jealous of how obnoxiously perfect these two are for each other. "So I guess Ohio's next on the itinerary after Kentucky. You said Cincinnati's where you were born?"

Jonesy shakes his head. "I grew up there. I was born in Kent, which is just outside of Akron. But when I was about five, my dad got a job at the Good Samaritan Hospital, so we moved to Cincinnati."

When the food arrives, they go quiet as they tackle the formidable feast spread out across the table. There's something soothing and familiar about the four of them eating together like this, as though they're a family sitting down to a home-cooked meal.

"Y'know," Jonesy says after a formidable period of silence, "if you guys decide to drive through Cincinnati, I'm sure my folks wouldn't mind you staying for a night or two."

Jimmy snorts a laugh into his soda, sending bubbly water down the wrong pipe. "You sure they'd be okay with you bringing three giant homos around?"

"Well, considering they raised one, yeah, I think they'll be fine with it." Jonesy slices open a piping-hot biscuit and drizzles honey into the center. "In my senior year of high school, I dated a close friend of mine. His parents were going through a nasty divorce, and sometimes he'd spend the night at my place when the arguing got really bad. My parents were very well aware of our relationship." He's blushing as he says this, so Jimmy knows there's an embarrassing story behind it.

"Lemme guess, they heard you?"

Jonesy's cheeks flush a deeper pink. "My mother had 'the talk' with us the next morning. In her opinion, as long as we were being safe she couldn't really complain. I'd brought girls to the house before, but I guess my mother felt like I needed a refresher course on the ins and outs of safe sex."

"Phrasing," Jimmy says, and Robert chokes on his drink, which makes him, Bonzo,and Jimmy start laughing.

"Yeah, I really should have phrased that better," Jonesy says, realizing his mistake.

Robert wipes his mouth with his forearm. "No, that was perfect."

"Very evocative," Jimmy adds.

"I didn't know you had such a dirty mind." Bonzo pats Jonesy on the back.

"Anyway," Jonesy says, dragging out the word and extricating Bonzo's meaty paw from his shoulder, "if you decide to head up that way, you're more than welcome to stay with my parents."

Jimmy smiles, warmed by the invitation. "Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks."

"Introducing me to the family already?" Bonzo teases. "You sure move fast."

Jonesy blinks, looking worried. "Oh—oh, I didn't even think about that!" He tucks his hair behind his ears. "You don't have to, if you think it's too soon. I just thought it would be nice, y'know, instead of staying in a motel. Free food and lodging." He forces up a smile that's pained around the edges.

Bonzo rubs Jonesy's back and says, "Don't worry about it. I'm just yankin' you."

"Not at the table, please," Jimmy says wryly.

Robert rolls his eyes. "Pagey," he scolds, his mouth stuffed with macaroni.

After dinner they hunt for lodging. The motels they find are pretty much all sold out, save for a Motel 6 that has one room left with two queen beds. They decide not to spend the extra cash on an upscale hotel and go for the single room. Each couple takes over a bed, a side of the room designated as theirs, and Jimmy is the first to use the shower.

By the time he's finished drying his hair and brushing his teeth, Robert, Jonesy and Bonzo are huddled together, watching TV and smoking pot.

"What the hell?" Jimmy says, offended. "Save some for me."

"O'course!" Robert digs through his stash and produces a neatly-rolled joint.

Jimmy takes the blunt and lights up, flopping beside Robert on the bed. After a moment or two, Bonzo stands up, taking Jonesy along, and leads him into the bathroom.

"You're  _not_ ," Jimmy scolds.

"We're conserving water," Bonzo says, indignant. "What're you doin' to protect the environment?"

Jimmy flips him off, but Bonzo shuts the door once he and Jonesy are inside, so the gesture's wasted.

Robert chuckles, sort of leaning against Jimmy. "I think they're cute together."

"Doesn't mean they have to flaunt their sex life in front of us."

Robert takes a long drag and blows out a smoke ring. "You can't stand seeing anyone else happy, can you?"

Jimmy just rolls his eyes animatedly and sucks on his joint. Sometimes Robert's personality is best appreciated while under the influence.

"We could enjoy ourselves too while they're in there, y'know," Robert says, like he's making a point.

"And what if we don't finish before they're done?"

"Pagey, no offense, but stamina's not really your strong suit."

"Fuck you very much," Jimmy says, with love. "You'd be a minuteman too if you hadn't had a boner in weeks."

"I'm not complaining. Just sayin'."

"Well, unfortunately for you, weed makes me hungry, not horny."

"It makes me both."

"So I'm learning."

By the time Robert finishes showering, Bonzo and Jonesy are already asleep in their bed. The television's switched off, joints have been extinguished, and the room is filled with the quiet rattling noise of the air conditioner and Bonzo's soft snores.

Robert's getting more comfortable sleeping only in his underwear. He slips under the blankets and cuddles alongside Jimmy, who would rather not sleep nearly nude. Robert's hands push underneath Jimmy's t-shirt. He presses kisses to the side of Jimmy's face, snags his earlobe between his teeth.

Jimmy groans a quiet noise and nudges Robert in the side with his elbow. He's not particularly horny, and he doesn't like the idea of Bonzo or Jonesy waking up and seeing them engaged in shameless coupling. But it's not like Jimmy didn't have the, uh, pleasure of seeing those two humping and moaning in his van, and if he doesn't have to do anything but lie here and let Robert do all the work, hey, it's a free orgasm and payback. Two birds with one stone and whatnot.

Jimmy grunts a sound of assent, and Robert kisses a line along Jimmy's jaw until his finds his mouth. Robert's lips taste like toothpaste, minty fresh and clean, and Jimmy hums around the kiss. Robert's hands ease into Jimmy's pajama pants, pushing them over his hips along with his underwear. He turns Jimmy over so he's flat on his back, his lower half obscured beneath the blankets, then Robert disappears as well. The warm suction of his mouth engulfs Jimmy, and Jimmy breathes hot and heavy through his nose, determined to stay quiet. Bonzo and Jonesy can be as loud as they please, but Jimmy at least has some sense of dignity.

Robert's tongue glides down the shaft of Jimmy's cock, the tip tracing the bulging vein there. Jimmy writhes in quiet torment and hooks a leg over Robert's shoulder. He can feel the hot slide of tongue, the way Robert wraps a hand around Jimmy's thigh. Jimmy opens his mouth to draw in a breath, and that's when Robert's wet, slippery tongue teases at his opening.

Jimmy chokes out a noise that's much too loud in the silent room, and he tries to smother the sound with his hand, because  _what the fuck_? Jimmy's done some adventurous things in the bedroom, but he's never had the desire to bring his ass into the mix. Maybe he should have thought about that before he started dating a man. In retrospect, that's probably something that would have come up eventually.

Robert licks him open, slow and slick, and Jimmy curses, his hips rocking forward into Robert's mouth with desperation. All he can do is beg, his mouth making needy, whiny noises that he can't stop. His chest hitches with quick breaths as Robert pushes his legs open and delves deeper. Robert's tongue somehow fills Jimmy up, and it's all he can feel, slippery and stroking inside of him, like Gene Simmons is eating him out. Jimmy's got no idea how he's supposed to handle Robert's cock inside of him when his tongue is fucking him up like this.

His hips stutter with the nasty flick of Robert's tongue, curses and moans spilling from his mouth. Jimmy can feel the tight clench of pleasure blooming, and he clutches at Robert's hair for something to hold on to. It's like he's being held tight and pulled apart all at once. Jimmy gasps, his hips lifting off the mattress. His nails scrape over Robert's scalp, his breath coming quick and interspersed with pleading words. Jimmy comes like it's been punched out of him, striping his stomach and making a noise he's certain is too loud. He's shaking, panting for air when it's over, and Robert licks him clean, laps at the cum puddled on Jimmy's belly.

"Fuck," Jimmy sighs out, his muscles still quivering like jelly.

Robert smiles against Jimmy's skin, his tongue licking up every drop smeared over Jimmy's stomach and dripping down the lines of his hips. "I think you liked that."

"No shit. What was your first clue, the huge fuckin' puddle of jizz?"

"Well, no, the noises you made were my first clue," Robert says, and no one should sound that smug after they've stuck their tongue in someone's ass.

"Fuck off," Jimmy grumbles, and Robert makes himself comfortable, his head resting on Jimmy's chest. He's sort of lying between Jimmy's legs, and Jimmy's just going to ignore the blatant symbolism there. "Now that I've experienced firsthand where your tongue has been, I'm never kissing you again."

Robert huffs a soft laugh. "As though you're the first person I've ever done that for."

Jimmy scowls at him, but Robert can't even see his face. "Fuck you, I thought I was special."

"That's the fourth time you've said that word post-orgasm. You tryin' to tell me something?"

"Yeah, the only way you could ever be a bigger pain in my ass is if you were actually inside my ass."

"It doesn't hurt if you do it properly," Robert says, entirely missing the point. "If it didn't feel good nobody would do it."

"I don't need a rousing speech on the joys of anal sex. Christ, just go to sleep."

"Fine." Robert settles in, wraps his arms around Jimmy in a way that makes him feel oddly vulnerable. "G'nite, Pagey."

Jimmy waits until Robert's breathing evens out before murmuring, "Night, Sunflower," into his hair.

* * *

They're not even to Atlanta when Bonzo and Jonesy start having sex again in Jimmy's van. Jimmy wouldn't have noticed at first; the two lovebirds were slumped against each other in the back, leaning against the front seat. When they disappeared out of sight, Jimmy assumed, rather naïvely, that they took some of the blankets and pillows and made a more comfortable sleeping surface. But that was before he saw Jonesy's leg make a brief appearance in the rear-view mirror, his canvas sneaker catching Jimmy's eye before a lull in the music flowing through the speakers allowed everyone in the van to hear Jonesy's soft little moan.

"I  _know_  you're not doing what I think you're doing back there!" Jimmy scolds, sounding more and more like his mother with every passing day.

Bonzo pops up from the back, wiping his mouth with his hand, and Jimmy doesn't even want to know. "So we have to hear Robert blowing you, but when I wanna service my boyfriend Princess Page gets her panties in a twist?"

"Okay, one: don't talk about Jonesy like he's a car. Two: if you don't stop calling me Princess I will castrate you. Three: what do you mean, you heard us?"

"You could hear a pigeon fart in that room. Of fuckin' course we heard you."

"How do you know it was me?"

"Pretty sure Robert wouldn't be callin' out his own name in bed," Bonzo says, and, yeah, that's some pretty damning evidence.

Jimmy scowls at him. Robert's laughing, which just adds insult to injury. "This is all your fault," Jimmy says, glaring at his stupid blond boyfriend who insists on giving him surprise rimjobs. "You keep your damn mouth shut. That's what got us into this mess."

Bonzo takes that as permission to continue whatever the hell he's doing to Jonesy, and he ducks out of sight like something out of a shooting gallery. Jimmy cranks up the radio, letting Aerosmith drown out the sounds he's certain Jonesy's making. He'll never be able to listen to "Back In The Saddle" ever again without thinking of Bonzo blowing Jonesy. God fucking damn it.

They don't resurface after the song ends, which is a little disconcerting. Jimmy pretends like it doesn't bother him, but the radio station segues into a commercial break, so he has to jerk the volume down. If he hears any more sex noises from someone who isn't Robert, he's killing himself.

Luckily for Jimmy, Robert steps in and asks, "Am I allowed to talk now?"

"Please do."

Robert looks pleased by the permission, readjusting his position in the passenger seat so he's sort of facing Jimmy. "Great! Okay, where're we going?"

"Well, alright, I was gonna save this for your birthday, but since we're so close I figured we'd hit up Memphis and see if we can spot Elvis."

Robert looks like a child who's just been told he's going to Disneyland. "Really? Oh, Pagey, I could just kiss you!"

"Save it for later, Sunflower," Jimmy says, fighting a smirk. He can't deny that Robert's enthusiasm warms his heart. "Then after Memphis, I thought I'd take you down to Clarksdale because of your whole obsession with the Delta Blues."

"Pagey, this is... This is overwhelming." Robert blinks a couple times, shakes his head. Jimmy thinks he sees a tear trickle down Robert's cheek, but he doesn't mention it. "I don't know what to say..." He looks over at Jimmy and gives him a fond smile. "I was right about you."

Jimmy's about to ask what that might mean when he hears Jonesy gasping in a way that unmistakably means he's being fucked. Then Jonesy's saying, "I'm coming, I'm coming," and Jimmy's mouth drops open in a horrified, soundless scream.

Robert doesn't stop finding this hilarious until they cross the Macon, Georgia city limits.

* * *

By nine o'clock p.m., they're just outside of Memphis when the van starts making a weird knocking sound, then a screeching sound. Jimmy shouts, "No, no, no, what the fuck are you doing?" which wakes up everyone in the van.

Robert rubs his eyes. "What's goin' on?"

"Pull over," Bonzo says, his voice thick with sleep.

Jimmy manages to coast off to the side of the interstate just as the van jerks to a halt. He takes a few breaths to calm himself down. The van's about five years old, and he's been pushing it pretty hard the last two weeks. It's really no surprise the thing crapped out. He turns the key again. The engine makes a horrible grinding sound for a few moments then goes silent.

"Piece of shit! What the fuck did I ever do to you?" Jimmy growls, smacking the dashboard. He drops his head against the steering wheel. "No, I'm sorry, you're not a piece of shit, come on, come on!" He tries the ignition again and gets a whole lot of  _nothing_. "Fuck!"

"Sounds like the engine's dead," Bonzo says. Mr. Helpful.

"No shit!" They're stopped on a dark stretch of undeveloped land, and the only lights are that of the rare car zooming by on either side of the freeway. They're pretty much stuck in the middle of nowhere. No reason to panic or anything.

Bonzo slides open the passenger door and hops out of the van. He pops the hood like he's done this a million times. Jimmy can't see what he's doing, just slumps further against the wheel.

"Maybe the van's punishing me for letting you and Bonzo have sex in it," Jimmy says to Jonesy.

"Pagey, c'mon, it'll be okay. Bonzo'll fix it, or we'll get it towed to a garage and have it fixed."

"And I'm s'posed to just leave my shit in here for anyone to steal?"

Robert shrugs. "Well, Buddhists often say we become slaves to our possessions, so, y'know, if someone  _did_  steal your things at least you'd be free."

"Why don't I light your suitcase on fire and set  _you_  free?"

Robert reaches over and pats Jimmy's arm. "You're just cranky 'cause you're hungry."

"No, I'm cranky because our only transportation just broke down in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere in the middle of the night!"

Bonzo slams the hood shut. "Your alternator's dead," he says, sauntering over to the driver's side window. "Battery too."

"Can you fix it?"

"Yeah, I keep a bunch of spare parts up my ass just in case," Bonzo says, deadpan. "I'll scout ahead for a phone. You guys stay here 'til I get back."

"No, I'm going with you," Jonesy protests. "You can't go by yourself. What if something happens?"

Bonzo chuckles. "Alright, whatever you say."

Jonesy slides out of the van and joins Bonzo. Jimmy watches them grow smaller and smaller in the night, and he worries. The two of them might irritate the fuck out of Jimmy, but they're still family, and Jimmy is fiercely protective of the people he cares about.

Robert scoots back and stretches his legs out on the seat. "C'mere," he says, and Jimmy goes willingly into the shelter of Robert's arms, sighing as he leans against the weight of him.

"I can't afford this, you know."

"'S'okay. We'll all chip in."

"You talked to them about it?"

"No, it's just obvious. We wouldn't be on this grand adventure if it wasn't for you. The least we can do is help you pay for repairs."

"Thanks, Sunflower."

Robert hums in response and laces his fingers with Jimmy's own. They sit through a long moment of silence, punctuated only by the occasional cricket chirp. The quiet of the country is so tangible it almost feels like a whole other noise. And then, Robert starts to sing a soft, soothing melody Jimmy recognizes as "Mother Nature's Son." His voice sounds at home in the song, and Jimmy closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. At some point, he hears himself join in, harmonizing the best he can. Robert doesn't seem to mind Jimmy's meager efforts, because he can hear the smile spread in Robert's voice.

They segue smoothly into "The Weight," and even though they fumble some of the words, Jimmy feels a profound sense of warmth, like he knows he belongs here with Robert through the way their voices weave together.

"We sound awesome," Robert says when they're finished.

"Maybe  _you_  do."

Robert huffs a soft laugh. "I like the way you sing."

Jimmy feels himself blushing. Robert doesn't care that Jimmy isn't much of a singer, just like he doesn't care about the dents and dings in Jimmy's personality. Robert's kindness and warmth and love make Jimmy want to be a better man. He could be a better man for Robert.

Bonzo and Jonesy return a little while later. "Tow should be here in about ten, twenty minutes," Bonzo says, climbing into the back. They settle in for a bit, waiting for the tow truck. At some point, a pair of headlights slows down as it approaches them and pulls off the road, rolling to a stop behind them. Thinking it's the tow, Jimmy hops out of the car. It's only then he realizes their new friend is a police car.

There's something about the presence of a cop that makes you panic, your mind reviewing your transgressions like the security tapes after a robbery. The weed is safely hidden away in Robert's suitcase—a cop would need probable cause to search inside the van or anyone's personal belongings—but Jimmy can feel the stolen money burning through his pockets. If he was wrong about Grant...

The officer steps out of his car. He's a tall, lanky man in a khaki uniform and a brown jacket. "Good evening, I'm Deputy Sheriff Steve Weiss. This your van?"

"Yes?" Jimmy says, his voice nervously rising.

"California plates, huh?" Deputy Steve says. The headlights of his car illuminate the license plate on the back of the van. "What're you doin' all the way out here?"

"It's my friend's birthday," Jimmy says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "He's a big Elvis fan, so I thought I'd take him to Memphis."

"That's awful nice of you." Deputy Steve scratches his beard. "What happened to your face?"

It takes Jimmy a moment to realize the makeup must have melted off in the summer heat. "Oh, I, um, I got hit in the face with a volleyball. Accidentally, of course."

"Is that right?" He says it like a stock phrase, as though he doesn't expect an answer. "What's your name, son?"

"Jimmy. Jimmy Page."

"Well, Jimmy, you boys need any help?"

"Actually, we've got a tow on the way—"

Robert's voice cuts in. "Pagey, are we going to jail?" he whines, like a child asking 'Are we there yet?'

"Jesus Christ," Jimmy mumbles.

Deputy Steve looks amused. "That your friend?"

"Yep."

Deputy Steve walks around to the passenger side of the van where Robert's sitting. "Jimmy tells me you're a big fan of Elvis."

Robert grins, his expression lighting up. "Yeah, he's taking us to Memphis to see Graceland." From the back, Bonzo and Jonesy wave and say hello. Jimmy isn't sure if their little group looks like suspicious criminals or just stupid stoners.

"Well, y'know, Elvis is pretty tight with the Shelby County police," Deputy Steve says. "If y'all'd like, I could drive you up there myself."

"You're joking?" Robert gasps, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"Aren't you on duty?" Jimmy asks.

Deputy Steve checks his watch. "Not anymore."

Robert gives Jimmy a pleading look, but Jimmy shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure this is how horror movies start."

"Oh, Pagey, don't be such a cynic," Robert scolds. "Why can't you just believe that someone wants to do something nice for us?"

"What part of England you from?" Deputy Steve asks.

"Oh, Kidderminster. It's a bit north of London. Where I grew up was surrounded by countryside. Quite relaxing, really."

"Oh, God, what have you done?" Jimmy moans. "He'll never stop talking now!"

Deputy Steve hangs around when the tow truck shows up and carts the van away. He helps the group get situated at the nearest motel, and Jimmy is outvoted on the Elvis situation, so the four of them pile into the cop car and let Deputy Steve drive them to Graceland.

Jimmy feels like this has to be a trick, because it can't be this easy, right? Steve's going to drive them up to some abandoned old shack and a chainsaw-wielding madman will carve them into Memphis barbecue. It would be very easy to murder them; Bonzo's the only one in the group who looks like he has any upper-body strength, and now that their only mode of transportation in an unfamiliar area is on the fritz...

Jimmy's still skeptical even when the cop pulls them in front of the wrought-iron gates of Graceland. Deputy Steve gets out to talk to the guard, and Jimmy's sitting in the back of the car with his arms folded over his chest, refusing to believe this is actually happening.

"You look like you're in time-out," Bonzo jokes, nudging Jimmy with his elbow.

"Nobody else thinks this is too good to be true?"

"Sometimes good things do happen, Pagey," Robert says.

"To us?"

"Mm, I think we've had a lion's share of good fortune. You and I getting together, of course, Bonzo and Jonesy finding each other—"

"Yeah, so don't you think it's about time for our luck to turn?"

Deputy Steve opens the passenger doors. "Guard'll walk you to the door. Elvis ain't feelin' too hot, so the most you'll get is a quick chat."

"That's fine," Robert says as he steps out. "All of this is so much more than I expected!"

The guard leads them up the walkway. Jimmy can't see much in the dark, but what he can make out of the expansive grounds is impressive. The Colonial Revival-style mansion is built at the top of a hill, nestled in a grove of oak trees. The guard rings the doorbell, and the five of them wait with bated breath for the King's emergence.

Elvis answers the door in silk pajamas, looking a tad confused by the motley crew gathered at his home. Time has not been kind to Elvis Presley. He looks like a bloated caricature of himself, like something in a funhouse mirror, but Robert doesn't seem to care, entranced by sharing the same air as his idol.

Jimmy steps forward. "Hey, I'm Jimmy. This is Robert, Jonesy, and Bonzo. We're all big fans, but it's Robert's birthday, and I thought it would be really great if his favorite singer could tell him happy birthday."

Robert smiles, all enthusiasm and eager blue eyes, and even the King of Rock 'n Roll can't refuse him when he looks like that. Elvis breaks into a smile and shakes Robert's hand. "Well, happy birthday, Robert. Hope you have a good one. Wait here a sec." He disappears into the house for about thirty seconds and returns with a gold watch decorated with diamonds. He places the watch in Robert's trembling hand. "Why don't you keep this?"

"Thank you!" Robert squeaks, his voice heavy with emotion. "This is the greatest birthday I've ever had!"

Elvis smiles at him. "No problem, kid."

"Thank you so much for your time and generosity," Jimmy says. "We really appreciate it."

They say their goodbyes, and the guard escorts them back to the car. Robert snaps the watch around his wrist and says, "I finally met Elvis! And I'm taller than him!"


	13. Sunflower

They get the van back early the next morning, and Jimmy almost doesn't care that he only slept about five hours last night. Today is all about Robert, so Jimmy bites down on his morning grumpiness and takes them to breakfast at a restaurant downtown. They all order mountains of food—even Jimmy—since none of them ate dinner the night before.

Stuffed and queasy from their morning feasts, they head out into the sticky Memphis air. Jimmy takes Robert on a tour of all the music-related sights: Sun Studio, Stax Records, and the Gibson Guitar Factory. Bonzo and Jonesy follow along, occasionally ducking into shops or boutiques for a quick look at something in the window. But Beale Street is a ghost town with nearly every building boarded up. Robert pouts and stares at the desolation, as though trying to conjure a memory of when this street held court to the Memphis blues and thrived with nightlife.

They take refuge inside a laundromat from the oppressive humidity, and the four of them actually enjoy the monotony of washing clothes when it means staying inside with air-conditioning. Robert sits atop one of the running washers and busies himself by reading a magazine. Jimmy snaps open a soda can from the vending machine and joins him.

"You know what my last boyfriend did for my birthday?" Robert starts without being prompted. "Nothing. He just told me 'happy birthday' and gave me sex. But I don't think he would've even done that if I hadn't reminded him the day of."

"Dick move," Jimmy says.

"But you not only remembered, you went out of your way to make sure it's something special."

Jimmy shrugs. "I wish it could'a happened on your actual birthday, but, hey, it's not every day you get to lie to Elvis."

* * *

The next morning puts them in Clarksdale in about two hours. Robert leads Jimmy this time, guiding him through the various blues-related tourist attractions: Sonny Boy Williamson's grave, Muddy Waters' cabin, and the Riverside Hotel. He takes plenty of pictures and tries to corral Jimmy into not looking like a murderer for a photo.

"C'mon, Pagey," Robert whines. "Can't you just look like a normal person for five seconds?"

"You're taking a picture of me at the crossroads!" Jimmy protests. "You're not gonna stick that thing in a box with some graveyard dirt, a black cat bone, and a yarrow, are you?"

Robert lowers the camera, a confused look on his face. "Should I be surprised you know how to summon a crossroads demon?" He shakes his head and lifts the camera again. "Will you just smile so I can take the bloody picture?"

"I'm not good at having my picture taken," Jimmy says, pushing the unruly fringe out of his eyes. He should probably get a haircut at some point.

"You're the one who suggested it!"

Bonzo and Jonesy have disappeared somewhere, possibly to fulfill some disturbing sex-related bucket list, so Robert's going to have to do this himself. He walks over to Jimmy and throws an arm around his shoulders. "What are you doing?"

Robert hoists the camera up so the lens is pointing at them. "Maybe you'll smile if you're in the picture with me."

"This is ridiculous," Jimmy protests, but he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching. "Do you really think your mother's gonna care if I'm smiling or not?"

"Is it too much to ask she doesn't think my boyfriend is a murderer? You're even more beautiful when you smile, Pagey, and I want her to see what I see when I look at you."

"Fuck," Jimmy says around a laugh, his mouth giving way to a smile, and Robert snaps the picture before the expression fades. "You're an asshole."

Robert studies the picture as it begins to develop. "Aww, it's a good picture! You look wonderful." He pouts. "I'll send it to her, but she's got to send it back. I like it too much."

They meet up with Bonzo and Jonesy and aimlessly drive around town. Jimmy makes plenty of jokes about Sunflower Avenue, and when he spots an open field with a healthy thatch of sunflowers, he pulls off to the side of the road and hops out. "C'mon, babe, it's your namesake," he says, and Robert follows him into the grassy field.

Jimmy plucks a flower and offers it to Robert, who sticks the stem into the front of his jeans. "I actually don't have a response to that."

"Not even a half-arsed plant joke?"

"I got nothin'."

Jimmy picks a formidable bouquet of sunflowers before getting back in the van. Robert slides in beside him and watches curiously as Jimmy begins to weave the stems around each other in a circle. His fingers create intricate knot-work, and when he's finished he places the finished flower crown atop Robert's head. "If I'm Princess Page, then you've gotta be my flamboyant sunflower fairy prince."

"I'd be happy to," Robert says with a grin.

"God, you two are so fucking gay," Bonzo says.

"Stop it," Jonesy scolds, with love.

* * *

They vote to start the seven-hour drive to Louisville, Kentucky after lunch, and Jimmy naps in the back of the van for about three hours while Bonzo drives. Jimmy drives the rest of the way, and they roll into Louisville around eight p.m. for dinner. Robert stuffs himself with a Hot Brown and a slice of Derby pie, and Jimmy gets so wrecked on bourbon Jonesy has to drive them to the motel and check them into the room.

Jimmy sort of hangs onto Robert as he awkwardly stumbles through the door with Jimmy in one arm and luggage in the other. Jonesy helps Robert with Jimmy's things, sets his suitcase on the floor and places the box of books near the night table before ducking out of the room. Robert spills Jimmy onto the bed, and Jimmy groans, rolling onto his back. "No, no, love," Robert says, turning Jimmy over. "On your side."

Robert fetches a damp washrag from the bathroom and presses it over Jimmy's forehead. "You've got to stop doing this to yourself."

"If I stop, I think the accumulative hangover will literally kill me."

"Well, then, is there any particular reason you drank so much tonight?"

"I thought I had a pretty good one last time."

Robert does that pouty, frowny thing he does when he's questioning Jimmy's ability to make life choices. "Pagey, I care for you dearly, but you're gonna have to stop being so bloody pathetic." Jimmy's drunk enough that he chuckles, thinking Robert's making a joke. "Don't waste your life pining after someone who hurt you. Because Jeff didn't want you. Jeff said fuck it and fuck you and took off. If you wanna piss your life away over someone like that, fine, but you're gonna end up alone because you never saw the value of what was in front of you until it was gone."

Robert's words pierce Jimmy's skin like daggers. Jimmy feels tears leak from his eyes and drip down his face. He never expected Robert to talk to him like this. Robert is happiness and optimism personified, but evidently everyone's got their breaking point.

Jimmy reaches out, sinking his fingers into Robert's flowery blouse. "Don't go, Robert. I'm sorry—I don't know why I do this. I get fucked up sometimes, and I hate it, but I can't stop. Because it feels better than actually feeling it, y'know? Life's moving ahead without me, and it's just easier to think it's all 'cause of someone else tipping the domino that set everything in motion."

Robert gently pulls some loose strands of Jimmy's hair free from where they're trapped under the washcloth. "You talk like you're dying," he says with a hint of amusement. "Pagey, your life ain't over yet. You'll figure things out. Everything will fall into place. Maybe it won't be exactly the way you imagined it, but it will happen. I promise."

Jimmy's eyelids feel as though they weigh a thousand pounds. He closes his eyes, his brain going fuzzy. "I'm scared, Sunflower," he murmurs. "I don't wanna go back to LA or settle down somewhere. Because it won't be this, what we have now, y'know?"

Robert just nods and rubs Jimmy's back until he falls asleep.

* * *

In the morning, Jimmy wakes up to a room full of filtered, dusty sunlight. Robert's passed out beside him in the bed, shirtless and most likely not wearing pants. His arm is curled loosely over Jimmy's hip.

Jimmy's hangover situation is pretty decent, considering all he's got right now is a slight headache. He thinks about turning over to check the bedside clock, but he doesn't really want to wake Robert up if he doesn't have to. As if on cue, Robert slides his arm off of Jimmy's hip and makes a grunting noise in his throat.

"Mornin', Pagey," he says when he opens his eyes. "Are you feeling better?"

Jimmy is stricken with a sense of love and wonder, because Robert's first instinct upon waking up here is to make sure Jimmy's alright. He's always so concerned about Jimmy, so invested in his well-being. Robert cares more about Jimmy's happiness than Jimmy himself does. It's all Jimmy can do to cuddle into him and bury his face in Robert's throat.

"I s'pose that's a yes?" Robert says into Jimmy's hair.

Jimmy wants to give back to Robert. Robert is always giving and giving, and Jimmy's always taking his goodwill and love and sexual favors and barely returning any of his own. If he doesn't want to lose Robert, he needs to start reciprocating more.

Jimmy pushes a hand under the covers and shoves Robert's underwear over his hips. Robert makes a sexy little noise as Jimmy eases him onto his back. "Pagey..." Jimmy drags his nails through the trail of hair leading to Robert's dick, and Robert gasps, spreading his legs a little wider around Jimmy. He's already hard, so that's good.

Jimmy wraps a hand around the base of Robert's cock and opens his mouth around the head. It's something he never imagined doing, but Robert is loud and eager under his lips, twisting and moaning in the sheets and making Jimmy feel saintly. He tries to imitate what Robert does to him, tries to copy the ways he likes to be touched, and Robert responds like Jimmy knew he would, with needful gasps of Jimmy's name and jerky hip thrusts. Jimmy presses a hand over Robert's hip bone to hold him still, because he's new at this, and Robert stops pushing, lets Jimmy swallow him down a little deeper.

Robert's hands have come up to tangle in Jimmy's hair, his fingers tugging and tightening as Jimmy sucks him. Robert tastes like salt and sweat and semen, nothing like the women Jimmy's pleasured this way. Jimmy has been called many things in bed, but Robert's breathy cries of "Pagey, Pagey" have a wavelength all their own, as though Jimmy is someone else entirely when he's doing this.

Robert's voice catches in his throat, and he shakes out, "I'm coming," his hands going tight in Jimmy's hair. Jimmy hums around him, because he wants this, wants to taste what Robert has to give him. Robert's hips lift off the mattress, and he comes with a cry, spurting hot in Jimmy's mouth. Jimmy does his best to swallow it all, but most of it still ends up dripping down his chin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, tasting Robert in every cell.

"You've never... Why did you do that?" Robert asks, still sort of dazed from his orgasm.

Jimmy shrugs and lets a hand play along the length of Robert's naked thigh. "Why not? You've done it for me."

"Because I like doing it." Concern spreads over Robert's face. "You don't think you have to do these kinds of things for me, do you?"

"It'd be kind of a shitty relationship if I didn't get you off every once in a while."

Robert sits up, and Jimmy watches the muscles of his perfect body pinch and flex as he moves. "I only want you to do it in a way you're comfortable with. I would never force you to do something you didn't want to just to make me happy."

"Well, you didn't. I blew you 'cause I wanted to. Which I'm sort of regretting now that you're talking about it like a giant girl." Jimmy smirks, and Robert claims his lips under his own.

"You are so very charming," Robert says. "Even when you shouldn't be."

"It's a curse."

* * *

The Kentucky State Fair is in full swing, so the group heads to the Exposition Center to partake in the festivities. The air smells like ten different kinds of fried food mingled with smoke, mostly due to the cigarette Jimmy's nursing between his lips as he and Robert stroll through the fairgrounds. Bonzo and Jonesy have disappeared in the crowd, so Jimmy's stuck accompanying Robert through the countless food tents lined on either side of them. Robert gorges himself on barbecue, funnel cakes, cotton candy, corn dogs, and sweet tea; Jimmy waits for him to explode or, at the very least, vomit into a nearby trash can.

Robert takes enough pictures to mark him as a tourist, and every now and then he snaps a photo of Jimmy looking distracted and totally unaware of the camera. He grins as each picture develops, and he stuffs them into his back pocket. Robert's wearing his patched jeans today, so although Jimmy's highly tempted to make a grab for the photos he's not stupid enough to do it in public.

They walk through the Midway, passing by ticket and prize booths and cotton candy stands. Jimmy really wishes he could hold Robert's hand or link their arms together like a real couple. To all of the people they pass, they're just two friends, and while Jimmy certainly sees the value in hiding in plain sight, he hates this invisible barrier forced between them in public.

Robert plucks Jimmy's cigarette from his lips and takes a drag. There's an intimacy to this, something relaxed and comfortable, and Jimmy appreciates the gesture, as though Robert read his mind. "'M sorry about what I said to you last night," Robert says, smoke spilling from his lips as he speaks. "I overreacted."

"It's fine. You weren't exactly wrong."

Robert shakes his head and takes another drag. "Even so, you had just done all these nice things for me, and it probably brought up some unpleasant memories. Or maybe pleasant ones, too. Of course you would try to deal with that the only way you know how."

"Is that your subtle way of calling me an alcoholic?" Jimmy asks with a smirk.

"No, I'm calling myself a bloody arse for being so harsh with you."

"Don't worry about it, Sunflower. I'm still takin' you to prom."

Robert snickers and hands back the cigarette. Jimmy wraps his lips around it, and it feels like an indirect kiss.

They find Bonzo and Jonesy coming off the Ferris wheel. Jonesy looks dizzy and dazed, and Jimmy would think he was sick if he wasn't smiling so hard the lines of his cheeks form perfect parentheses around his mouth.

"What happened to you?"

"He kissed me at the top," Jonesy says.

"Ah, yeah, that'd make me look like I wanna vomit, too." Jonesy gives Jimmy a playful slug to the shoulder. "Hey, c'mon, Robert says I give people shit when I've officially deemed them friends. Which is probably why I don't have that many. So consider yourself lucky."

"Oh, I do," Jonesy says. "You guys are great." He casts a brief look at Bonzo, who's talking with Robert. "Um, would you mind if we talked in private for a bit?"

"Sure." Jimmy leads him away from the others, and they find a relatively quiet spot at a picnic table near a corn dog stand. "So what's up?"

"It's about Bonzo. I think I love him."

Jimmy resists the urge to laugh, because this is a serious conversation, and Jonesy doesn't deserve to have his emotions mocked. But still. "Wow, really? That's... Wow. Look, the last thing I want is to sound like a parent, but isn't this a little soon? Have you guys even known each other a week?"

Jonesy smiles sadly. "I know it sounds crazy, but that's how I feel. When you're a teenager it's so easy to fall in love. But, I dunno, when you get older you start thinking more pragmatically, and it gets harder to find the right person 'cause you're so caught up in fulfilling this checklist of requirements in a partner. You figure if you get along and are attracted to each other that you can just decide to fall in love. But with Bonzo, it's different. It's not something we decided on; it's like it was already there waiting for us."

"You haven't told him any of this, have you?"

"No way," Jonesy says with a laugh. "He'd probably freak. I know he's only with me as a rebound after he and his wife split. He needs companionship. I get that."

"I don't think he would've wanted to bring you along if you were just a rebound. Friendly reminder that he asked that right after I found you two naked in my van. Not the best time to be asking for favors."

Jonesy's cheeks flush pink at the memory, or maybe at the fact that Jimmy remembers it.

"Has he said anything to make you think it's a rebound?"

"No, but I'm not stupid." Jonesy looks at Jimmy. "You ever notice he only gives you and Robert crap when you're doing something romantic?"

"Maybe we remind him of what he used to have with his wife?"

"Or maybe he's uncomfortable with intimacy."

"Imagine that," Jimmy grumbles under his breath, because that one's a little too close to home. "But you'll never know unless you actually talk to him about it."

"Is that how you and Robert got together?"

Jimmy laughs to himself. "Trust me, you don't wanna do it the way we did. It would'a been so much easier if I had just asked him if he had a crush on me. But I was afraid he'd say no and things would be Awkwardville, population us."

Jonesy's mouth twitches into what might be the early makings of a smile.

"Look, do you think he would'a kissed you on the top of a Ferris wheel if he didn't like you at least a little bit?" Jimmy lights another cigarette. "Besides, I read somewhere that talking about doing something gives you the same dopamine rush as actually doing the thing. So, hey, now that you've told me, you don't need to tell Bonzo yet."

Jonesy actually smiles this time. "Thanks, Jim. Anyone ever tell you you're a really great guy?"

"Yeah, and I'm starting to believe it," Jimmy grouses around his cigarette.


	14. Homeward Bound

Jonesy's parents live in the Cincinnati suburb of Indian Hill, and as Jonesy drives them along the rolling countryside Jimmy realizes he'll never have enough money to live here. Extravagant, stately manors pass by on either side of the road, nestled in the clusters of tall trees. While the houses are nothing like the Hollywood mansions Jimmy's used to, they have a dignity all their own. This is old money.

"You never told us you were loaded," Bonzo says with a laugh.

"Well, I'm not. My parents are. And I wanted you guys to like me for the right reasons," Jonesy explains, turning onto a tiny one-lane road Jimmy would have missed entirely. The road leads them through a thicket of trees and up an incline. Atop the hill is a sprawling, stone and brick ranch home with a circle driveway. A Tuscan-style fence decorates the front lawn, and there's a three-tiered water fountain in the middle of the driveway.

Jonesy parks the van, and Bonzo, Robert, and Jimmy get out to admire the view. Behind the house is an impressive grove of trees, and the front lawn is spotted with playful red and green shrubs. "Looks a bit like a castle," Robert says, appreciating the architecture. It's the kind of house Jimmy would want to have if he had someone to share it with.

"I feel like there should be a moat and a drawbridge," Jimmy says. They follow Jonesy to the door, standing underneath the arched entryway. Jonesy rings the doorbell. It sounds dramatic, like an orchestra. Jimmy, Bonzo, and Robert exchange glances.

A woman Jimmy presumes is Jonesy's mother answers the door. "John, it's so good to see you!" She hugs him tightly, the way a mother hugs her child. "We had no idea you'd be coming home so soon!"

"Neither did I," Jonesy says, pushing his hair behind his ears. "But things happen."

Mrs. Jones notices Robert, Jimmy, and Bonzo standing behind Jonesy. "And these must be your friends! Come in, come in!" She leads them into the main room which is slightly larger than the Acropolis. The interior is all wood and brick, the furniture old-world tasteful and well-worn.

Robert runs his fingers over the brick archways. "What a lovely home," he says, looking at Jimmy. "Very cozy. Very English."

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind living in a place like this." Jimmy doesn't say the "with you" part, but he's certain Robert hears it loud and clear.

Jonesy's father emerges from above, descending down the staircase. "Welcome home, son! Are these the friends you told us about?"

Jonesy nods and introduces the three of them.

"And which one of these handsome fellows is yours?" Mrs. Jones asks, making Jonesy blush.

"Oh, that would be John," he says, reaching for Bonzo's hand.

"Doesn't that get confusing?" Mr. Jones asks.

"Not really. We have nicknames."

Mr. Jones steps forward and shakes Bonzo's hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you, John."

Something dings in the kitchen, and Mrs. Jones scurries off to tend to it. Robert rushes to help her, and Jimmy has to restrain his boyfriend from the food. "I wanna help," Robert whines.

Mrs. Jones laughs, taking the tray of garlic bread out of the oven. "Oh, John told me all about your love of food. You're more than welcome to give me a hand."

Robert doesn't need to be asked twice.

Jonesy's busy trying to keep his father from telling Bonzo too many embarrassing stories from Jonesy's childhood, so Jimmy isn't sure what to do. Mrs. Jones invites him to sit at the kitchen bar and relax, so he does, though he feels weird about it, watching the two of them cook and not lifting a finger to help, though Mrs. Jones shoos him away when he tries to assist.

"Robert, dear, where did you learn to cook?" Mrs. Jones asks, watching him cook the pancetta and bread crumb mixture over the stovetop. His lack of asking for instructions probably tipped her off that he knows what he's doing.

"Oh, um, I used to work as a cook back in England, so I had lots of practice. Most of it was just following recipes, though. Are you a professional?"

"Goodness, no. I just collect a lot of recipes. When you're retired you look for ways to keep your mind sharp." Mrs. Jones looks at Jimmy. "What about you, Jimmy? What are you good at?"

"Jury's still out on that one."

"There must be something that caught Robert's eye," she says, mischievous.

Jimmy looks at his boyfriend. "Robert, why don't you take this one?"

"Pagey doesn't think he's much good at anything. He should've been born British, what with his self-deprecating sense of humor."

"I'm just not a career-minded person," Jimmy admits. "When I picture myself happy, it's making a home with someone I love, a family."

"Well, I think you may have found that already," Mrs. Jones says with a wink.

When the food is ready, they all sit at the long, mahogany dinner table loaded with overflowing plates of spaghetti and cheesy garlic bread. Sitting in someone's home to eat a meal is oddly surreal for Jimmy, who's been dining in restaurants and dingy bars for almost a month. It feels slower, more personal, more relaxed. It feels like home.

"So, Bonzo," Mr. Jones says after they've started eating. Apparently he's been clued in on the nickname. "Tell us a bit about yourself."

"Well, I served four years in the Navy on the USS Kitty Hawk from '66 to '70," Bonzo says, sounding nervous. "Then I worked in an auto shop 'til it closed up just a little while ago."

"What made you decide to go traveling?"

"I, um, I had some personal problems... I thought I'd travel across the country and clear my head, I guess."

Jimmy can tell this is uncomfortable territory for Bonzo, so he helps out the best he can by being an insufferable douche. "Hey, Bonzo, what rank were you again? Was it Rear Admiral?"

Robert snorts a laugh that's much too loud, covering his mouth with his hand as he chortles at Jimmy's terrible sense of humor. Jonesy's gone red with chagrin, but Bonzo's sort of chuckling, like he appreciates Jimmy's diversion. Mrs. Jones is trying very hard not to laugh, and Mr. Jones looks at Jimmy with a wry smirk.

"Pagey!" Robert scolds, though it's hard to look too upset when he's grinning like an idiot.

"I'll see myself out."

"Nonsense," Mr. Jones says. "I like the cut of your jib."

Jimmy blinks. "Oh no, is my jib showing?"

A smattering of laughter breaks around the table, and Jimmy settles in, more at ease now that he hasn't been ejected from their social circle for his crude humor. Robert starts talking about their trip to Memphis and how the four of them met Elvis, shows off the wristwatch the King himself gifted to him. Then Bonzo chimes in with anecdotes from their visit to Venice Beach and Jimmy's unfortunate volleyball accident, which makes Jonesy blush a shade of red even Crayola hasn't identified yet.

After dinner, Mrs. Jones brings out a scrumptious-looking lemon meringue pie. Jonesy and Bonzo aren't big on sweets, so Robert cuts himself a ridiculously huge slice and manages to eat it without lapsing into a sugar coma.

When they're finished eating, Jonesy helps Robert and Jimmy get situated in the guest room, fetching their bags from the back of the van. The guest bedroom is on the second floor, and the sheer size of the room is almost bigger than Jimmy's apartment. There are soft patterned chairs gathered around an ottoman, a bedside table and a reading table, and a bureau. To the left of the bed is a door leading to a spacious bathroom.

Robert admires the décor, peers out the window and gapes at the view of the forest in the back yard. "I feel like I'm back in Wales again."

Jimmy makes a curious noise, urging him to continue, and joins him at the window.

"When I was a child, my folks and I used to take our summer holidays up in Wales. There was this lovely little cottage where we used to stay, and it was surrounded by greenery and trees. A bit like this, but it was more like living in a Hobbit village, y'know? You could walk 'round the woods forever and get lost."

"Sounds romantic," Jimmy says, sliding a hand up the length of Robert's arm.

"Mm, not really. The cottage didn't have any running water, so imagine that."

"I'd rather not."

Robert laughs a beautiful sound and drops onto the bed, stretching out his pornographic body. "Oh, I'm gonna sleep good tonight!"

Jimmy manages to tear his gaze away from Robert's wiggling torso and pull him off the clean, crisp bedding. "Get a shower first, you animal."

"Why don't you join me?" Robert asks, smooth and seductive.

"Because we're guests here, and I don't want Jonesy's parents thinking we're sex-crazed maniacs. It's bad enough they're probably gonna have to hear their own son getting plowed."

"I can't believe you just said that."

Jimmy rolls his eyes, picks up Robert's bag and tosses it at him. "Just go clean up. Wash away your sins." He can hear the sound of Robert's laughter, even after he closes the bathroom door behind him.

Once they're both freshly scrubbed, Jimmy slides into the soft, beckoning bed alongside Robert. It's the most luxurious bed he's ever slept in, save for the odd occasions where he passed out drunk or high in someone's mansion. He can feel Robert shivering beside him and discovers Robert's only wearing a threadbare t-shirt and pajama pants.

"You seriously didn't pack anything for the cold?"

"I didn't think I'd need it." Jimmy swears he hears Robert's teeth chattering.

"You can't possibly be that cold. You came from England, for Christ's sake."

"Shut up," Robert pouts, tugging the blankets tighter around himself.

Jimmy sighs and kicks his way free of the warm cocoon. He finds his suitcase discarded somewhere near the foot of the bed. "Lucky for you, I packed with the intention of reaching colder weather." He rummages through his clothes until he finds a heavy beige cardigan. He tosses the sweater at Robert, who picks it up and examines it.

"This looks like something my grandma would wear."

"That's probably because my grandmother knitted it for me one Christmas. But if you're gonna criticize a sweet old lady's fashion sense, you can just freeze to death. See if I care."

Robert pouts at him—which is so not an effective argumentative technique—and sticks his arms through the cardigan. He wraps himself in it and stops shivering. "It's warm."

Jimmy climbs back into bed, cuddling close and tucking his face into Robert's throat. He feels Robert wind his arms around him and pull him nearer. "Pagey, did you mean what you said about wanting a family or were you just talking rubbish?"

"Why would I lie about being pathetic?"

"'S not pathetic."

"Men aren't really supposed to want to get married and have a family over anything else."

"Men also aren't s'posed to shag other men, but we do." He can hear the grin in Robert's voice, and it warms his heart.

"Alright, yeah, I meant it. Why?"

"Because I think you could have that. Y'know, maybe you aren't meant to have some great career. Maybe your destiny is to be someone's reason to come home every night."

"So I just contribute nothing to the world? Not that I have a problem being a trophy husband, but it can't be that easy, can it?"

Robert shrugs. "You make things too complicated sometimes, Pagey."

"The world is complicated, Sunflower." Jimmy yawns, too tired to argue. As much as he wants to live in Robert's idealistic hippie world, Jimmy knows the world demands something from him. He really hopes he doesn't spend the rest of his life trying to figure out what that is.

* * *

Jimmy opens his eyes a few hours later. The house has gone dark, and Robert is snoozing quietly beside him. Jimmy watches Robert's face as he sleeps. He can't understand why Robert looks troubled, his brow creased ever so slightly, his lips pulled into a tiny little frown. Could he be in the midst of a bad dream?

Carefully, Jimmy tucks a chunk of Robert's curls behind his ear. As he watches him, Jimmy knows he will always be in love with Robert. It's a force coursing through his veins, the reason he wakes up each morning.

His mouth's gone unpleasantly dry, so he eases out of bed and creeps through the hallway in search of the kitchen. It's always uncomfortable navigating a strange house in the middle of the night, and Jimmy cringes as the stairs creak under his weight. When he gets downstairs, he sees a figure sitting at the kitchen bar. In the dim light, it could be anyone, but the beard and sheer size of the figure tell Jimmy it's Bonzo.

"Hey," Jimmy whispers, moving closer. "What're you doin' down here?"

"Same thing you are." Bonzo raises his glass. It takes Jimmy a moment to notice the amber-colored liquid inside.

"Where'd you get booze?"

Bonzo reaches for the lower tier of the bar and grabs a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam off the counter. "They said 'make yourself at home,'" he says, topping off his glass.

"Jesus," Jimmy grumbles. Booze is pretty good at putting him to sleep though, so he locates a glass and sits beside Bonzo. Bonzo pours him about three fingers' worth. "So, can't sleep?"

"I just needed a drink."

"Hey, I came down here for a glass of water, but when in Rome..." Jimmy kicks back a swallow of whiskey, lets it burn his throat.

Bonzo lets out a deep sigh, his fingers tightening around his glass. Jimmy fears it might shatter in his hand. After a moment, Bonzo says, "I shouldn't be here."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"You know damn well I don't deserve Jonesy. Look at this place. You think I could ever make enough money to live somewhere like this? Jonesy's barely a few years older than me, and he's a fuckin'  _doctor_. All I got's a GED, and the only thing I know how to do is work on cars. I couldn't even get my damn wife pregnant."

Jimmy takes another long drink. Why does everyone come to him when they've got problems? Clearly he's not the best candidate to be handing out life advice. "Did his parents say somethin' to you?"

"They didn't have to. I know I don't belong here."

"Jonesy seems to like you enough. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Bonzo makes a noncommittal noise and downs his drink.

"Look, so what if you're not perfect? Who is? And Jonesy adores the fuck outta you. You'd have to be a special kind of masochist to give that up 'cause you don't think you deserve him."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I just... I dunno." Bonzo stares into his empty glass, as though he might find an answer there. "Y'know, I haven't done this whole 'meet the parents' thing since I got married. I thought I was done with all that. I thought I earned myself a lifetime of never having to feel like I didn't measure up."

Jimmy wonders if maybe the amicable separation wasn't so amicable after all. "Did you and your wife discuss adoption?"

Bonzo shakes his head. "It wasn't just that we couldn't have kids. There were... extenuating circumstances."

Could that be code for an affair? Or did Bonzo leave his wife because of his inferiority complex? Certainly he couldn't have married someone so cold-hearted she'd leave him over a biological misfortune.

Jimmy suspects Bonzo's hiding something, but he knows he won't learn what it is tonight. Or maybe ever. Bonzo seems like the kind of guy to keep his secrets well-guarded.

"Well, hey, I don't think having children is something you'll have to worry about with Jonesy," Jimmy says, trying to lighten the mood. "I mean, if he wants to be around kids, he could always be a pediatrician or somethin'."

"Yeah, maybe..."

Jimmy isn't sure if he should leave, if Bonzo will do something rash. But the whiskey is making Jimmy sluggish and sleepy. He slides off the chair and claps a friendly hand on Bonzo's shoulder. "I'm callin' it a night. Just, uh, make sure you talk to Jonesy first before you do anything stupid. Or wait 'til Robert's up and talk to him. Y'know, he's all optimistic and shit."

Bonzo nods, still staring at his drink. "Yeah, thanks, Jim."

Jimmy heads upstairs in awe that Bonzo actually used his name.

* * *

Jimmy wakes up in the morning feeling more rested than he has in months. Outside, the trees are a patchwork quilt of harvest colors. He turns onto his side, eager to share the beautiful landscape with Robert, but he finds the other side of the bed empty. The scent of bacon and eggs lingers in the air, and Jimmy thinks Robert must have been lured from the bed by the promise of a tasty breakfast.

He finds everyone gathered downstairs at the table, which is covered with heaping plates of cheese omelettes, buttermilk pancakes, English muffins, bacon and sausage, and tall, sweaty glasses of orange juice. Mr. Jones has already gone to work at the hospital, so everyone's a little more relaxed. Robert's still wearing Jimmy's sweater, which is endearing in ways Jimmy can't possibly explain. He's glad to see Bonzo stuck around after their earlier conversation.

"We were wondering when you were gonna wake up," Mrs. Jones says with love as Jimmy enters the kitchen.

"Pagey's not much of a morning person," Robert supplies.

Jimmy serves himself what's left of the breakfast bonanza. "Do you always make a big breakfast like this?"

"Only when we have company," Mrs. Jones says.

"I helped!" Robert adds before stuffing his face full of pancakes, and Jimmy feels love course through every vein.

Jimmy takes the open seat next to Robert. Jonesy's wearing a sweater so ridiculously purple he looks like a character from H.R. Pufnstuf. Jimmy snickers and says, "Jonesy, you and Robert could start an ugly sweater club."

Robert gasps in offense. "You said your grandma knitted this!"

"I never said it wasn't ugly."

Jonesy makes a tiny sound that could be a laugh, or he could have just swallowed some food down the wrong pipe. Bonzo rubs a hand over Jonesy's back and says, "Well, Princess, you'd know all about ugly, considering you're wearing a Kiss shirt."

Jimmy glowers at him. "That doesn't even make sense. Are you insulting the shirt or the band?"

"Both."

"Now, now, boys, no fighting at the table," Mrs. Jones warns them, but she doesn't sound like she'd really care if Jimmy hurled his plate at Bonzo.

"Aww, Bonz', c'mon, I like Kiss," Robert whines.

"You would. It's only your second favorite thing to do with your mouth," Jimmy says, slyly.

Robert blushes. "Phrasing, Pagey."

Jimmy cuts his pancakes into tiny pieces. "Funny story. A couple years ago I was at this Halloween party in Beverly Hills, and I went dressed as Paul Stanley. Apparently my costume was so convincing people actually thought I was him. I signed a terrifying number of autographs that night."

"Of course you'd pick the girliest looking member of the band," Bonzo points out with a smirk. "The evidence is really piling up, Page."

Jimmy resists the urge to flip him off at the table.

After breakfast, Jonesy drives them around and gives them a weirdly personal tour of Cincinnati. Bonzo's riding shotgun this time, so Jimmy and Robert are relegated to sitting in the back. Jonesy's a bit of an architecture nerd, which means they spend a lot of time gawking at antique churches and historic buildings. Robert takes plenty of pictures in an attempt to be a good sport, and Jimmy just tries not to look too bored.

While Jonesy and Bonzo take Robert into a department store for some suitable cold-weather clothes, Jimmy ducks into a nearby bookstore. The smells of old books and cedar assault his nose when he walks through the door. The store has four stories of shop space, so Jimmy spends a good deal of time browsing. In Los Angeles bookstores, Jimmy tends to earn nasty looks from the high school kids running the registers, like they can't imagine why someone wearing a Kiss or a Deep Purple t-shirt would be interested in or even capable of reading. Or maybe they just want him to leave so they can go back to goofing off. Here, however, the shopkeepers leave him be, which Jimmy appreciates.

On the fourth floor, he finds shelves upon shelves of rare, vintage, and otherwise valuable books. Stuffed in one of these shelves is something Jimmy thinks would make a perfect gift for Robert's birthday. The price tag, however, makes him balk, though what was he expecting? Discouraged, he sticks the book back on the shelf.

That's when he remembers he's in a fucking bookstore that specializes in rare, old books. Books of which he has a collection that's just gathering dust in the back of his van.

Jimmy returns to the shop with two crackly hardcovers he suspects might be relevant to the shop's interests. He doubts he'll be able to turn a profit on the Crowley books anyplace but an occult store. With his newfound cash, he buys Robert's birthday gift, and he stashes it in the van with the rest of his book collection. Robert's already gone through them, so he won't suspect anything new's been added.

Jimmy finds Robert and Bonsy—they're a unit to him now, and he's calling them that to save time—in the clearance racks of the department store. Robert has an armful of disgraceful sweaters and cardigans that Jonesy must have deemed appropriate winter wear.

"How do you even dress yourselves?" Jimmy wonders aloud. He paws through the terrible sweaters Robert's holding. "Okay, babe, I'm gonna ask you something, and I won't judge you, whatever your answer is: did you pick these out from the women's section?"

"Yeah," Robert says, like he's got no idea why that might be the slightest bit weird.

Jimmy sighs and gives Bonzo a pleading look. "And you give  _me_  shit for being girly?"

"'Cause you get all pissy about it."

Well, shit. Bonzo just called him right on out, and Jimmy's got nothing. He stammers lamely and hands Robert the sweaters.

When they're done shopping, they eat lunch at a nearby Skyline. It seems chili restaurants are as populous here as hamburger shacks are in Los Angeles. Robert's eating a bowl of chili spaghetti and two miniature chili dogs covered in diced onions and piles of shredded cheese, and he seems to give zero fucks about how unhealthy it is. The four of them are sort of squished into a small booth, so Robert's warm thigh is pushed right up against Jimmy's own, and Jimmy finds himself occasionally gliding his hand over it from underneath the table.

Bonzo's shaking some hot sauce onto his food, and Jonesy's watching him with such fondness it's hard to stomach. Robert must be thinking the same thing, because he turns to Jimmy and asks, "Have you actually seen Kiss in concert?"

"Oh, yeah, a bunch of times. I've seen Skynyrd, Bob Dylan, The Who, the Stones, Alice Cooper, Pink Floyd..."

Robert makes a pouty face. "I've only seen British acts that played in clubs and whatnot, but it was usually before they got really big."

"Well," Jimmy says, dragging out the word, "Queen has a tour starting in October. Kiss has another one in November. And Skynyrd's finishing one up around October, too. If you wanted, maybe we could, y'know, go together."

"Really?" Robert says, looking floored, but it sounds more like " _rhuhh-yee_ " because he's got a mouthful of food. "What about them?" He tilts his head in the direction of Bonzo and Jonesy, who're engaged in a conversation all their own.

"I doubt we're gonna be on the road that long, Sunflower."

Robert smiles at the significance of that, because Jimmy's making plans for them to do something as a couple, like an actual date. Then he looks saddened somehow, as though he doesn't think he'll ever see Jonesy or Bonzo again after the road trip reaches its end.

"But, hey, shit happens, y'know? Or maybe we can meet them there," Jimmy says, attempting to salvage Robert's good mood. "You don't really know someone until you go on a road trip with 'em, so they'll either decide we're best friends for life or position themselves as far away from us as possible."

"Those're decent odds, I s'pose."

After lunch, Robert insists on getting ice cream, so they find a Graeter's store a few blocks down. The chips in his black raspberry chocolate chip sundae are about the size of dominos, and Jimmy's a little envious. They trade bites of each other's sundaes as Jonesy drives them through town. Jimmy hasn't felt this much like a child in a long time. He leans against Robert's shoulder and feeds him spoonfuls of cookies and cream.

They're quiet enough that Jimmy hears Bonzo say to Jonesy, "Hey, do you think your folks like me?"

"Of course," Jonesy says, as if there were never any doubt. "I know my dad can be kinda... intimidating, but he means well. Is that about that 'I got no problem goin' back to prison' thing? Because he's never been to prison. He was trying to make a joke. He's not very good at it."

Jimmy bites his lip to keep himself from snickering. Apparently he missed some hilarious shit.

"Naw, I just..." Bonzo shrugs, scratches the back of his head. His voice goes oddly quiet, and Jimmy strains to listen. "Pat's folks didn't like me much. They thought she should be with somebody more equipped to provide, y'know, someone who could make a lot of money. And they were about the only people over forty who didn't approve of the war in Vietnam..." He lets out a deep sigh. "Sometimes I wonder if Pat only married me to piss off her parents."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that with me," Jonesy says with a nervous chuckle. "Since, y'know, we can't get married."

The moment of levity falls flat, because Bonzo doesn't laugh like Jonesy hoped he would. The van goes unbearably silent for a few seconds, and Jimmy's heart breaks for Jonesy as he struggles to dig a hole in the floor and disappear forever.

"Looks like I inherited my dad's sense of humor," Jonesy says, attempting to salvage the conversation, and God bless him for trying. "Look, my folks think you're great. But if they didn't, it wouldn't matter to me. 'Cause I think you're pretty great, too."

Jimmy leans over and whispers, "God, he's so awkward, someone help him," into Robert's ear.

Jonesy takes them to a huge neighborhood market in one of the city's historic districts so he can pick up some ingredients for tonight's dinner. Robert and Jimmy wander around the various booths and vendor shops to give Bonzo and Jonesy some space as a couple.

"Bonzo's really worried about making a good impression," Jimmy says absentmindedly as they pass by a flower booth. "I found him drinking last night, and he said all this crap about how he doesn't think he's good enough for Jonesy."

Robert's brow creases in sadness.

"And the other day Jonesy told me he's in love with Bonzo, and I just want to scream at him to tell Bonzo instead of me, because what the hell good is it doing me to know these things?"

"How come everyone's treating you like an agony aunt?"

"Fuck if I know," Jimmy grouses, puffing on his cigarette.

"You know," Robert says after a moment. "If Bonzo's so wrapped up in the idea of being good enough, he's obviously smitten with Jonesy. He wouldn't care so much if there wasn't love there."

"And he probably would've ducked out when Jonesy mentioned staying with his parents." Jimmy takes a long drag. "As much as I want to let this play out, somebody has to tell them, or else Bonzo's gonna do something stupid and blow it."

"He ought'a blow Jonesy instead."

Jimmy grimaces. "God, no, they've done enough of that already. So, are you gonna tell Bonzo, or am I the official intermediary for whatever middle-school bullshit these two get up to? Maybe I should leave a note in his locker and ask him to meet me during free period."

Robert's mouth pinches in that way of his when he's trying very hard not to smile. "How is it you're so charming even when you're being such an insufferable arse?"

"It's just my way, I guess."

* * *

Dusk is thickening into night as Jonesy parks the van in the driveway of his parent's home. They kill time before dinner by lounging on the couch and watching TV. Bonzo's got an arm wrapped around Jonesy, who's cuddled into his chest. Their difference in size is kind of amusing, because Bonzo's this hulking lumberjack of a man, and Jonesy is tall and thin and wiry. Jimmy and Robert appropriate the other side of the massive couch, leaning against each other like they belong here.

Robert runs his fingers up and down the inside of Jimmy's forearm, toying with the short hairs on his wrist. It's the little intimate moments like these that Jimmy's a complete sucker for, and he wants to ruin it by dragging Robert upstairs and blowing him in the guest bedroom. He turns his head so he can make out with Robert. Robert is too smirky and smiley around the kisses, especially when Jimmy's hand starts rubbing the outside of Robert's thigh.

A loud, exasperated huff sounds from the other side of the couch, and Bonzo says, "Get a room, you two," like he's disgusted by their display of affection.

Jimmy heaves a sigh and asks Mrs. Jones, "May we be excused?"

Jonesy hides his cherry-red face in his hands. "Please don't ask my mother for permission to go upstairs and have sex."

"That's not exactly what I asked."

"Save the upholstery, use the sheets," Mrs. Jones says, and Jonesy makes a tiny sound of embarrassment into his hands. "These two will help with dinner tonight, so you boys take all the time you need."

Jonesy mutters something quiet, but Jimmy thinks he hears the word "adopted" in there.

* * *

When they're finished, Jimmy traces his index finger along the thick, pink scar near Robert's elbow. Robert twists his arm around, self-conscious, but Jimmy raises it to his mouth and kisses the scar. "This doesn't make you any less beautiful to me."

"It should," Robert murmurs, but he doesn't pull away.

"It was just a car accident—"

"No, it wasn't. I lied."

" _You_  lied?" Jimmy gasps in mock horror. Though it's hard for him to imagine Robert lying about anything. Jimmy curls closer to offer the comfort of his presence. "Do you wanna tell me about it?"

The look on Robert's face says he really doesn't want to, but he forges on. "I was in a fight. Well, it wasn't so much of a fight as it was a beatdown, but I s'pose that's what happens when it's three against one."

"Jesus..." Jimmy's stomach turns in realization. "Was it because you're..." He doesn't finish that sentence, but he doesn't need to.

Robert nods. "I had to have surgery to stick the bone back into my arm," he says, watching Jimmy's gentle fingers caress his scar. "They broke my ankle, knocked out one of my teeth... I woke up in the hospital, but I've got no memory of how. Mum took me back home 'cause I couldn't walk, and I wouldn't be able to for months. Dad didn't think I should stay 'cause he'd already kicked me out, and what happened to me was my fault anyway for being the way I am."

Jimmy's mouth drops open. "He actually said that?"

"Not to me, of course. I heard them arguing a lot. I didn't know it at the time, but that was what broke them, and after that there was never any hope of putting them back together again. Mum moved out and took me with her. I recovered from my injuries in her flat, convinced my own father hated me."

Jimmy swallows back the lump forming in his throat. Immediately, he feels like an asshole. Somehow Robert was able to hold on to his cheerful optimism in the face of being assaulted and his parents' marriage dissolving. But poor, pathetic Jimmy crumbled because some dumb asshole broke his heart.

"I ruined my parents' marriage," Robert says, and only then does Jimmy see the tears leaking from his eyes.

"You can't seriously think—Robert, that's not your fault. Your father was supposed to protect you and be there for you. You didn't ruin anything. He did that."

"I just... The worst part is he didn't used to hate me. I remember he used to take me to football games, and he'd go on these long trips in his truck and take me with him, and he used to wipe my blood and tears away when I got hurt. Then he found out what I am and just... turned all that off like a switch, y'know?"

Jimmy feels the abundant wetness on his face, the lump in his throat growing like a tumor. "It's not your fault," he says again, because Robert needs to know that.

Robert lets out a choked, anguished noise and buries his face in Jimmy's neck. Jimmy holds him through the sobs, cries into Robert's fluffy curls, and they stay that way for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please continue to suggest scenes for me to draw~ *winkwonk*


	15. Who Knows Where The Time Goes

The next afternoon, Mrs. Jones bids them teary-eyed goodbyes and reminds them they're welcome to stay whenever they're in town; Jonesy looks embarrassed but grateful for his mother's hospitality. Four and a half hours and almost three hundred miles later, they're rolling into the south side of Pittsburgh near the Monongahela River. Robert gapes out the window at the bridges over the water, the mountainous landscape in the distance, the European architecture. "It reminds me of home," he says, sort of awed.

"Well, the northeast was mostly colonized by European immigrants," Jonesy says. "They just modeled things after what they were familiar with."

"Have you ever been 'round this area before?" Robert asks him, turning around in his seat so he's facing the back where Jonesy and Bonzo are congregated. His ass is only mildly distracting for Jimmy.

"A few times. If you go up Mount Washington, you can get a really great view of the city and rivers."

"Where is that?" Jimmy cuts in.

"Before you reach the bridges. So just be careful when you get out of the tunnel."

Jonesy helps him navigate up the mountain and reach an overlook with a fantastic view of downtown Pittsburgh. The sun has that late afternoon glow characteristic of when sunset is mere hours away, so the leaves of the trees surrounding them are awash with bright summery hues. Robert takes plenty of pictures of the scenery and forces Jimmy, Jonesy, and Bonzo to huddle together for a group shot in front of the van.

Bonzo's more than happy to sling an arm around Jonesy's shoulders and pull him in close, but Jimmy's not the best at having his picture taken, so he's sort of standing awkwardly off to the side like the world's most uncomfortable third wheel.

"Don't frown, Pagey! Someone could be falling in love with your smile!"

Jimmy's certain that Robert already has, and he feels his lips pulling into a smirky sort of grin right before Robert snaps the photo.

Robert and Jimmy share a cigarette and watch the sun set over Pittsburgh from the hood of the van. Robert's sprawled out beside him, leaning against the windshield and gazing at the distant skyline. Bonzo and Jonesy loiter near the overlook railing. Jimmy feels oddly relaxed here, despite a handful of other people scattered over the grass.

Robert takes a long drag off the cigarette, holding the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds before blowing it out in weirdly perfect rings. "If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?"

"Seems kinda preemptive to give an answer to that when I haven't seen even half of what the world has to offer." Jimmy plucks the cigarette from Robert's fingers and inhales. "Every mile is the furthest I've been from home."

"Really?" Robert says, sounding intrigued. "I traveled all over when I was a lad. Snowdonia, Machynlleth, Bron-Yr-Aur—"

"Are you having a stroke? Is that what this is?"

Robert's laugh is a sound to be treasured, and Jimmy wants to hold it close to his heart for the rest of his days. "It's Welsh, you silly man."

"Does the Welsh alphabet not have any vowels?"

"I think you're tryin' to avoid the question."

"I don't really have an answer. I guess it's just not really important to me. I always figured whoever I married would be in charge of that." Jimmy takes another puff on the cigarette before handing it back to Robert. "What about you?"

"Wales holds a very dear place in my heart. Very idyllic, y'know? I s'pose I'd like to be someplace secluded, away from all the noise and bustle of the city. I've always felt a deep connection with nature."

"Well, your last name is Plant..."

Robert smacks Jimmy playfully on the shoulder. "Shut up. Is that why you've got that collection of books in your van, Mr.  _Page_?"

Jimmy makes a smart-ass pouty face, because he knows Robert can't resist it.

"You know I can't help but kiss you when you do that." That too.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Sunflower."

"We're in public."

Jimmy glances around at the sparse crowd. "Everyone's too busy looking at the view to give a shit about us." He totally understands why Robert's nervous, though. "Besides, we got Bonzo on our side. He could probably kill a man with his bare hands."

Robert surveys their surroundings for a moment before leaning over Jimmy and capturing his lips. His mouth is warm and tastes like tobacco, his tongue briefly tracing over Jimmy's lower lip. When he pulls away, Jimmy's left smirking and wanting. "I feel like I could get drunk on you."

"Are you sure you're not drunk now?" Robert says, giving him that shy, crooked smile Jimmy loves so much.

"Well, drinking tends to get me pretty horny..." Jimmy traces the tip of his index finger along the length of Robert's arm. He leans in so his lips touch the shell of Robert's ear and murmurs, "Why don't we get inside the van and find out?"

Jimmy never imagined he'd enjoy sucking cock as much as he does. He's not as practiced as Robert, and his technique probably leaves a lot to be desired, but the way Robert squirms and cries under his mouth make Jimmy feel pretty damn good about himself. Robert's lying on his back in the van, sort of propped against the pillows and folded blankets, while Jimmy sucks and slurps at his cock. The van is filled with the sounds of Jimmy's oral ministrations and Robert's heaving sighs. Robert digs his hands into Jimmy's hair as he comes, his mouth spilling praises and his cock spilling down Jimmy's throat.

Robert kisses Jimmy's lips clean, his breath shaky and quick through the comedown. "You're bloody amazing, y'know?"

"Yeah, oral sex was my major in college," Jimmy says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Robert grins. "A fine art, indeed." Jimmy laughs, and Robert looks pleased with himself. "But that wasn't so much a compliment to your technique as it was about  _you_. Shagging a bloke is all new to you, but you give it a go anyway. I dig it."

"Why can't you just say, 'great head, Jimmy,' and leave it at that?"

Robert gives him a saccharine smile and says, "Great head, Jimmy."

"Thank you." Jimmy captures Robert's lips under his own, greedy for the taste of him. Robert settles his hands on Jimmy's hips, mouthing hot kisses over Jimmy's bristly five o'clock shadow, then he's palming Jimmy's erection through his jeans. "Shit—fuck," Jimmy gasps, pushing his hips forward for more friction. He's going to go out of his mind if Robert doesn't suck his cock right now, which he might actually say out loud, because then Robert's easing him back against the van floor and going down on him.

Robert's in the middle of deep-throating Jimmy when Bonzo knocks on the ajar van window and says, "Either one of you faggots hungry for something that isn't cock?"

* * *

After dinner at a nearby sandwich shop, they check in at a little motel on the riverside. There's only one available room, and Jimmy doesn't feel like navigating an unfamiliar neighborhood in the dark for another motel that might be sold out, so he says "screw it" and takes the single room. At least there's two beds.

Since Robert and Jimmy commandeered the van for sexual intercourse, Bonzo and Jonesy call dibs on the room for the same purpose. Jimmy decides to hang out until they're done, and Robert keeps him company. They're sitting in the motel parking lot on this tepid summer night and watching the dark, eerie waters of the Monongahela River. Jimmy can see the city lights from across the water, his legs dangling out the back of the van.

Robert's rummaging around through the boxes of Jimmy's belongings, and Jimmy really hopes he doesn't stumble upon his birthday present in that box of books—at least not for five more days. But Robert isn't looking through that box. He's sorting through one of the boxes containing some of Jimmy's odds and ends: dog-eared music magazines and comic books, kitschy wall plaques, psychedelic chiffon scarves, a macrame owl, a small tin of pins, buttons, and patches.

Robert laughs, and Jimmy moves to see what he's so amused by. Turns out Jimmy had some, uh, sensitive reading material in that box. "I can't believe you brought porn!" Robert says through giggles, flipping through the magazine. "Aren't the pages s'posed to be stuck together?"

"If Bonzo were here, he'd say something like, 'that's 'cause it's full of pictures of women!'"

"Classic Bonzo." Jimmy can hear Robert turning the pages. "How come you brought dirty magazines? I feel like that should be addressed."

"Well, it's not like I thought, 'gee, I might need to bring my spank material on this road trip.' A lot of my things were already packed away from my last move. I don't have any intentions of going back, so, in essence, I'm sort of moving. I just didn't bring any furniture."

Jimmy glances at the two-story row of doors, in case Bonsy finished their desecration of the motel room. "Christ, they're still in there? What the fuck are they doing?"

"Well, Pagey, when two people fancy each other—"

"Fuck off, smart-ass, you know what I mean."

"Maybe they don't wanna rush. I wouldn't. I like to take my time. 'S better that way."

"Bonzo doesn't seem like a patient guy when it comes to orgasms." Jimmy cannot fucking believe these words are leaving his mouth.

"Jonesy does."

"Okay, we need to stop talking about this."

Robert's quiet for a moment save for the shuffle of items in the box, then he says, "'Ello, what's this?"

Jimmy turns to look. Robert's holding a wire-bound journal that Jimmy hasn't seen in over ten years. "Holy shit. Bring that over here."

Robert does, scooting forward so he's sitting beside Jimmy. The faint glow from the motel sign above them allows some illumination. Robert cracks open the journal, and Jimmy sees the faded pencil sketches he'd done during his years in college. "Wow, this brings back some memories."

Robert's lips part in realization. "You drew these?"

"Yeah, ages ago, when I was in college."

"These are really good," Robert says, studying each sketch and illustration as though it was put on these pages by one of the old Renaissance painters. "Why did you stop?"

"I painted my ex-boyfriend's guitar."

Robert waits for him to elaborate on that, but Jimmy doesn't, so he has to prod him along. "And he didn't like it?"

"Well, he broke up with me, so I can't imagine it was that great." Jimmy chuckles bitterly, watches the way Robert looks at his art. "It was a Telecaster. He left it at my place one night, and I thought I'd do something nice for him. I painted a dragon on it, made it pretty nice. He seemed to like it."

"Something like this?" Robert asks, showing Jimmy a rough sketch of a dragon curled in a guitar-shaped design.

Jimmy frowns in recognition. "Yeah... Huh, I thought I'd been very thorough..."

"I think it looks fine," Robert says, missing the point.

"I was so fucking stupid back then," Jimmy says, the admission like shards of broken glass in his throat. "I did so many favors for him and gave him things out of the kindness of my dumb old heart, because I thought maybe—maybe he would grow to love me the way I loved him. That if I stacked up enough kind gestures I could win him over, y'know?" The worst part is Jimmy doesn't think he can stop. He's repeating the same pattern with Robert by taking him to Graceland and Clarksdale and buying him the rare book at the bookstore. Same shit, different dude.

Hell, this entire road trip could be construed as a giant "please love me" gesture.

"Oh, Pagey," Robert sighs. Then he looks surprised, as though he's just heard someone call his name. "Loved. You said 'loved.'"

"What?"

"You said 'maybe he would grow to love me the way I loved him.' Past tense. You don't love him anymore."

Jimmy makes a face. "That's a stretch."

"You didn't even know you said it. It's subconscious." Robert gets this self-satisfied, smug smile on his face that Jimmy wants to kiss away, and he flips to the next page in the sketchbook. The designs on the page intrigue him. "Oh, these are nice." Jimmy's drawn four neat, crisp symbols there, each taking up an equal amount of space.

"Oh yeah. I thought they might make interesting tattoos."

Robert's eyes go wide. "Yes! We should get these tattooed! Which one do you want?" He points to the top right corner of the page at a feather encased in a circle. "I want that one."

Jimmy huffs a laugh. "Are you serious? You can get any tattoo you want, and you pick one of my shitty drawings?"

"It's not shitty," Robert says, sounding personally offended by Jimmy's self-deprecation. "I really dig your artwork, and I think you should pick it up again. I wanna support you. You're really talented, and it's a shame you stopped doin' somethin' you enjoyed because some wanker broke your heart."

Jimmy has to smile at Robert's kitten-like fury. He drops his gaze to the sketchbook, his favorite symbol drawing his eye. "I guess I've always liked this one," he says, pointing to an elegant calligraphy spelling out 'ZoSo.' "I thought about getting it tattooed over my hip, like this." Jimmy traces over the curve of his hip bone, and Robert's expression says he's a hundred percent okay with that.

"That would be really... Yeah, you should do it." Holy shit, is he blushing?

"Do you really wanna get this dumb thing tattooed on your body for me?"

"It's either this or a map of Middle Earth on my back," Robert says with a shrug. "Or something in Elvish tattooed 'round my wrist. But those would probably hurt too much. I'm not a big fan of needles, but I'll grin and bear it for you."

"Well, where would you get it?"

"On my back, right here," Robert says, pointing to the low dip above his ass where his spine disappears into his jeans. Jimmy thinks about kissing that tattoo during foreplay and feels a little lightheaded.

"Fuck, okay, that's—wow. Alright, we're doing this, then."

Robert holds up a cautioning finger. "Only if you consider getting back into your creative outlet, yeah? You don't have to do it for a living if you can't or don't want to, but at least do it for fun."

"You're giving me homework?"

"It's not work if you enjoy it, Pagey."

"Alright, why the hell not?" Jimmy submits with a shrug. "Let's get tattoos."

Robert cuddles into Jimmy and browses through the rest of the sketchbook until Bonzo stumbles shirtless out the motel room door and announces, "You can come in now!"

Jimmy and Robert gather their things out of the van and climb upstairs, walking along the rickety metal walkway that clangs and vibrates under their footsteps. Bonzo and Jonesy take the shower first, so Robert digs through his bag and pulls out a stack of Polaroids.

"Are those the pictures you've been taking?" Jimmy asks, stretching out on his stomach beside Robert.

"Yeah, I'm gonna send Mum some pictures of the places we've been, what we've been doing." He reaches for the pen and scratchpad on the bedside table and begins annotating the photos in the strip of white space at the bottom or, occasionally, writing on the back when he's got a lot to say. Then he moves on to the pad of paper, writing a long opus of his journey across the United States. Jimmy watches the way he chews on the end of the pen in thought, as though carefully measuring his words.

Robert's letter reads:

_Mumsie, by the time you read this I'll probably be twenty-nine already! No need to send a gift, I'm perfectly content travellin' 'round the US of A with my merry band of mates. This all started as a sort of experiment on my part, I s'pose, to see if I could offer Pagey (the gorgeous, dark-haired bloke in the photos) companionship without falling head over heels for him. We both lost our jobs, and he suggested the idea of a road trip. I offered to come along because I've loved him for a long time, but he seemed so hopelessly sad I didn't want to let him go off by himself. I thought friendship and laughter would raise his spirits. I only dreamed he could return the love I have for him, because I didn't know he was like me (he digs chicks too though), but he kissed me in New Orleans and I've been in heaven since~_

_In Alabama we met up with the big bloke. His name's Bonzo (don't call him John) and he's the big sweaty lumberjack brother I never had. Very protective. He takes the piss outta Pagey a lot but that's just how he shows affection. I think. Then we found Jonesy in Florida. He and Bonzo got to know each other quite well (if you know what I mean!), so we brought him along too. The more the merrier! Because of Pagey, I got to meet Elvis (he gave me his watch!) and visit Clarksdale, Mississippi, the home of the Delta Blues. The picture of me and Pagey together was taken there at the crossroads. Doesn't he just look absolutely perfect?_

_There is so much love and goodwill in this little group of ours, I feel happier than I have in a very long time. There's a bit of magic when we're all together, and I hope we can stay this way forever~ Love you and miss you, hope to see you soon (maybe Pagey and I will settle down somewhere and you could come visit?), all my love, Robert._

Jimmy holds him extra close that night when they fall asleep.

* * *

In the morning, Robert mails off the photos after breakfast, then they head across the Liberty Bridge into downtown Pittsburgh. Jonesy and Robert nerd out over the 19th-century and early 20th-century architecture scattered throughout the area, and Robert takes plenty of pictures. Jimmy and Bonzo don't quite see what the big fucking deal is. "They're just buildings!" Jimmy wants to shout, but he keeps quiet because Robert is adorable when he's excited about something, and, frankly, Jimmy's afraid of what Bonzo might do if he says anything to upset Jonesy.

They walk around Point State Park and admire the magnificent fountain spitting torrents of water high into the air. Jimmy and Bonzo hang behind Robert and Jonesy, who are bonding through a shared appreciation of history while gawking at the old British fort erected on the land.

"You're as bored as I am, right?" Bonzo asks Jimmy once they're far enough away from their partners. Jimmy snickers and nods. "Don't get me wrong, I love Jonesy, but, man, he's into some of the most boring shit. When we stayed at his folks' place, he showed me a bunch of photo albums full of pictures he took on vacations through the years."

"You didn't get to laugh at how dorky he looked when he was younger?"

"He was really cute," Bonzo mutters, like he's ashamed of this information.

"Well, see, you did get something out of it."

Bonzo chuckles, shaking his head. "He collected bottle caps when he was a kid. And, yeah, he showed me his whole collection. And I'm just thinking, 'I thought your parents were rich; couldn't they afford better toys than a damn bottle cap?'"

"There's got to be something you two both enjoy." At the sly smirk on Bonzo's face, Jimmy adds: "That isn't related to sex."

"He's really into sports," Bonzo says. "But you wouldn't know it unless you asked. His bedroom's covered in team pennants and shit like that. He's got a scrapbook of baseball cards and ticket stubs from all the games he's been to. And he's got a mandolin under his bed, but he gets real shy when you ask him to play it."

"You  _love_  him," Jimmy teases, dragging out the word, because he's secretly five years old.

"Shut up, Princess," Bonzo grouses. He gives Jimmy a playful shove.

But Jimmy's not letting this one go. "Bonzo's in love!"

Bonzo fists the front of Jimmy's t-shirt and holds him up so they're nose-to-nose. "Shut the fuck up, Page, I'm not joking."

"Why don't you just tell him?"

"Have you told Robert?"

That catches Jimmy off-guard, like Bonzo somehow knows Jimmy hasn't said the words, otherwise he wouldn't have asked. Bonzo lets go of him, and Jimmy finds his footing, knocked askew by the question. "No. But who cares? Every couple moves at a different pace. You guys seem to take things faster anyway."

Bonzo shakes his head, looking furious and dismayed. "I can't. I just can't."

Jimmy knows there's a story behind that, but he's not going to push.

They have lunch at an oyster shack and find a motel in which to recharge and relax. Robert and Jimmy get a room next door to Bonzo and Jonesy's, and they're making out like teenagers while the television plays in the background.

"Bonzo told me he loves Jonesy," Jimmy says around Robert's eager kisses.

"How come no one ever talks to me about this stuff?" Robert asks, heartbroken. He's lying underneath Jimmy, their legs tangled curiously. He leans in to kiss Jimmy again, but Jimmy tilts his chin so Robert can't capture his mouth. "Has he told Jonesy?"

"No," Jimmy laughs as Robert pushes his hands underneath his t-shirt. His palms are warm against Jimmy's tender skin. "I don't get it. What's he afraid of?" Probably the same things Jimmy is. "Anyone can tell Jonesy's head over heels for him."

"Except Bonzo, o'course. That's how it happens, Pagey. No matter how old we get, love is the one area where we're all insecure teenagers, hoping the other person will ask us to dance first."

Jimmy gazes down at Robert, who's watching him with an unreadable expression. He doesn't know why he can't just say three simple little words. He's read Robert's letters; he knows Robert loves him. But the last time Jimmy said those words, Jeff pulled away and left him. He knows Robert and Jeff are entirely different people with different circumstances and emotions, but Jimmy just can't allow himself to be that vulnerable again. Not when it got shoved back in his face the last time he did.

Fuck it, he should just say the words and stop being a chickenshit.

Suddenly, Robert rolls over, sending Jimmy toppling off the edge of the mattress and crashing onto the scratchy motel carpet. His head smacks hard enough against the floor to make him see stars. "The fuck, Robert?" Jimmy grumbles, rubbing his bruised skull. But Robert isn't paying any attention to him, just gazing at the television with a lost, devastated expression.

"...was pronounced dead today at 3:30 p.m. at Baptist Memorial Hospital. He was 42 years old," a somber Tom Brokaw says, and Jimmy tries to get a look at the TV set from his position on the floor. He's lying upside down, but he's pretty sure the picture in the top left corner is of Elvis Presley.

Jimmy hears himself say, "Holy shit."

Brokaw continues on. "Presley was scheduled to fly out of Memphis later this evening to begin a tour. He was discovered in his home by his girlfriend, Ginger Alden. Attempts to revive him were unsuccessful. Authorities do not believe Presley was the victim of foul play, and the preliminary cause of death is a heart attack."

Robert makes an anguished whimpering sound that guts Jimmy just hearing it. "No, he can't be—We just saw him!"

"Holy shit," Jimmy says again, because that seems to be all he's capable of saying right now. He rights himself and moves closer to Robert, who sniffles loudly.

"A former Presley bodyguard believes the singer's death to be drug-related," Brokaw's saying. "Over the last few years, Presley's health deterioration has resulted in frequent bouts of hospitalization and caused him to cancel tour dates due to his ailing health and alleged addiction to barbiturates."

"No!" Robert cries, shouting at the TV like the people inside can actually hear him. "He's not really dead! He's not! This is all one big joke to make us buy records or something! It's got to be!" The way his voice breaks around the words makes Jimmy's heart ache.

Elvis' death is the only story on all the channels, with news correspondents telling the masses that Elvis Presley was found in his home and pronounced dead today at 3:30 p.m at Baptist Memorial Hospital. That's pretty much all anyone knows, but they sure know how to tell it over and over again.

Jimmy switches off the TV and looks at Robert. "Babe, I don't think the American media would willfully perpetuate a false death announcement," he says, treading carefully. "I mean, I think Elvis and the President are up there on the list of people you'd definitely want to fact check before you announce their death on national TV."

Robert's expression has crumpled severely, like he's a child who's just been told Santa isn't real, and Jimmy wishes he hadn't said anything at all, just let Robert believe this was some hoax perpetuated by the media.

"But, hey, y'know, the government is all about hoaxes and cover-ups, right? I mean, look at Area 51! And the whole Watergate thing. They do all kinds of crazy shit. Maybe Elvis wanted to get out of this next tour so he faked his death so people would leave him alone."

Robert's just staring at the watch around his wrist as fat, glistening tears drip down his cheeks. Jimmy scours his brain for something comforting to say, something to soothe the thing in Robert that needs to be soothed, and comes up empty. He settles on, "I'm sorry," which just makes Robert start sobbing, so, yeah, that's awesome. Now Jimmy can cross "grief counselor" off his dwindling list of potential careers.

A knock at the motel door startles Jimmy, but doesn't disrupt Robert from his crying jag. Jimmy wobbles to his feet, overwhelmed by the enormity of the news. "Hey, maybe that's him!" he says, and as soon as it leaves his mouth he knows it's the wrong thing to say, because Robert wails an agonized sound.

Jimmy answers the door and sees Bonzo and Jonesy standing there, looking heartbroken and eager. "Is Robert alright?" Bonzo asks, peering around Jimmy to see Robert's crumpled, sobbing form on the bed.

Instantly, they swoop into the room and surround Robert with love and support without saying a word. Jimmy isn't sure if it's making Robert feel better, but he doesn't look like he feels  _worse_ , so that's something. Bonzo and Jonesy are sitting on the floor near the bed, their hands curled around Robert's shoulders and arms as he cries into the hideous lime-green motel comforter. Jimmy joins them and offers what little comfort he can.

The four of them stay that way for a very long time until Robert's sobs have ebbed into small, shivery little hiccups that make his body quake. That's when someone's stomach makes a ridiculously loud gurgling noise, and all Jimmy knows is it wasn't him.

Jonesy's face is flush with embarrassment, so he's probably the culprit. "Sorry."

Robert raises his head to look at him. "You should go eat. You don't need to stay here for me." He looks at Bonzo. "Both of you. Go on. I'll be alright."

"You're not hungry?" Jimmy asks.

Robert shakes his head, his face splotchy red and streaked with tears.

Sweet Jesus, this is serious.

Bonzo and Jonesy share a look, like they're aware of exactly how serious this is. "You sure? Should we bring you somethin' back? In case you get hungry later?"

"No, no, don't worry about me. Go enjoy yourselves." He tries a smile, but Jimmy can see the pain there.

"I'll stay with him," Jimmy volunteers, because Bonzo and Jonesy need some time alone with each other, and he can't leave Robert alone like this. "You guys go."

Jonesy tries to protest, but Jimmy shoos him and his gigantic boyfriend out of the room.

"Pagey, you don't have to stay," Robert says, his voice raw and broken from crying.

Jimmy shakes his head and sits at the foot of the bed, facing Robert. "What kind of colossal asshole would I be if I just left you here when you're hurting?"

"It doesn't matter." Robert wipes his tears with his hands. "I didn't even know him."

"He was important to you," Jimmy says, taking Robert's hands in his own. "It matters." Robert gazes at him with watery eyes. "Do you wanna go back? I'm sure Bonzo and Jonesy wouldn't begrudge you a trip down to Memphis so you can pay your respects."

"No, it's okay."

Jimmy lifts one of Robert's hands to his mouth and kisses his fingertips. "I can't believe it. We just saw him, like, a week ago." Robert sniffles and swallows hard. "And he was so young. Y'know, we wake up every morning and assume it's just the next day in what will be a long series of days. But any one of those days could be our last, and we wouldn't even know it."

Elvis was barely nine years older than Jimmy, but look at how many lives he touched and all the people who will miss him. If Jimmy died tomorrow, he wouldn't fill two rows in the church. Jimmy doesn't say any of that because this isn't about him, and Robert doesn't need anything else to be sad about.

Instead, he says, "I could die tonight without telling you I love you."

Robert looks at him, stunned. "You do?"

Jimmy doesn't know how it wasn't obvious, how every word and gesture didn't convey the simple, plain truth that Jimmy loves Robert more than anything or anyone. "Of course I do. You really couldn't tell?"

"I was hoping, but..." Robert shrugs into silence, his grief-stricken face beautified by a small smile at the corners of his lips. "I love you, too."

"I know. I read your letters."

"You bastard!" Robert laughs, playfully slapping Jimmy's shoulder. "That was private correspondence!"

"Not when you write them in front of me, you giant goof."

Robert sniffles, his mouth still pulled into a smile. "Oh, Pagey... You're wonderful."

Jimmy stays with him through the rest of the evening. A few hours later, Bonzo and Jonesy return with two lukewarm sandwiches in a grease-stained paper bag, and, with a little persuasion, Jimmy manages to get Robert to eat.

He's counting that as progress.


	16. Tomorrow Is A Long Time

They leave for Oakland the next morning. Robert's stopped crying by now, and he's in a state of melancholy Jimmy isn't sure how to dispel. Jimmy's never been great at cheering people up, but Robert just isn't himself when he's not smiling and laughing and making stupid jokes, so Jimmy's going to do his damndest to get Robert back to his goofy, sunshiney self.

At funerals, you always hear phrases like "the world lost" the deceased, as though the death of someone's brother or grandmother could possibly affect the world on a grand scale. Every once in a while, though, someone's life manages to have a profound effect on thousands or even millions of people, and the entire world seems to grieve. Everything feels altered somehow in the wake of Elvis' death. The earth continues to spin on, but there's an invisible shroud of gloom hanging over it that can only be felt by the heart, all the world's atoms and particles altered in microscopic ways from the loss.

Jimmy wonders if Robert can feel it, too.

They set up camp in a motel on the outskirts of town, and it's not too far from the city's main attractions and shopping district, so they walk through on foot and admire the hilly landscape and the cluster of tall buildings looming over the hills. Jonesy drags Bonzo into the Carnegie Museums, tugging on his arm and making pleading faces and insisting Bonzo get some culture. Jimmy makes a whip-cracking sound at Bonzo, who continues to find new and creative ways to give Jimmy the finger. But Jimmy sees a flicker of a smile at the corners of Robert's mouth, so he's going to keep milking that joke as long as he can.

While Bonzo and Jonesy are occupied, Jimmy takes Robert along Forbes Avenue. He pulls him into a shop with Irish and Scottish jewelry and clothing, because he knows Robert's a nerd for that kind of stuff. Robert seems interested, at least, browsing through the racks of Celtic-inspired clothes. Jimmy admires the woven tapestries hanging from the walls and tries to imagine how they might fit in a home he would share with Robert.

"Pagey," Robert says, snapping Jimmy from his reverie. "What do you think of this?"

Jimmy turns to look. Robert's holding a flowing, black and red tunic against his chest, as though to demonstrate how he might look if he were wearing it.

Jimmy can't resist being a smart-ass, though. "On you or me?"

Robert's mouth does that faint, twitchy smile thing again. "Me, of course."

"Well, it would cover your ass and your junk, so that's strike one. But you look good in red, and it seems like your style." And Jimmy's ecstatic that Robert's showing interest in something, so how can he begrudge him this? "I dig it."

Robert's smile gains back a bit more of its light, and he says, "I'm not buying it just 'cause you said that. I was gonna buy it anyway."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sunflower."

Robert spends an inordinate amount of time looking at all the jewelry and ends up buying some beaded necklaces and woven bracelets along with the tunic. Jimmy pays, since he's got some extra money left over from the books he sold the other day. Robert seems to be in a better mood afterwards as they're walking down the avenue, and Jimmy thinks he did something good here.

A little while later, Robert discovers a shop selling Tibetan and Indian jewelry, and Jimmy wants to protest that Robert just bought jewelry, but maybe retail therapy is what he needs. So Jimmy gives in and follows him inside. The store smells like curry, nag champa, and hippie farts, decorated in Indian rugs and small brass statues of elephants.

Robert's low-key flirting with the petite, dark-haired shopkeeper when Jimmy spots a boutique across the street specializing in teas and imported gifts. This is a great opportunity for him to sneak away and procure some more items for Robert's birthday. Jimmy taps Robert's elbow and murmurs, "I'll be right back. Don't wander too far." Robert makes a vague noise of acknowledgement, immersed in the selection of handicrafts spread over the shop counter.

The tea shop has a much more pleasant aroma, with hints of orange cinnamon and chamomile. The shopkeeper's brewing up samples, so Jimmy eagerly takes one and swallows it down like a shot of tequila. He takes his time browsing through the store. Since Robert isn't a fan of coffee, Jimmy picks out a collection of British and Welsh teas, throws in a trove of British candy for good measure. He thinks Robert will appreciate this, another gesture of goodwill and love that shows Jimmy listens when Robert talks about the things he likes.

Robert sidles up to him when Jimmy steps out into the summer heat. "What'd you buy?" he asks, nearly scaring Jimmy shitless.

"God, don't sneak up on people like that," Jimmy says, clutching his chest with his free hand.

"I wasn't sneaking. 'S'not my fault you didn't see me."

Jimmy just rolls his eyes.

"What'd you buy?" Robert asks again, tapping Jimmy's bag with one of his own.

"It's a secret."

Robert looks intrigued, but he respects Jimmy's need for secrecy and doesn't try to sneak a peek in the bag.

Along the way back to the motel, they walk through some residential areas, and Jimmy catches Robert looking at the rows of brightly-colored homes crammed together, each with bright green shrubbery in the front yard. Jimmy's familiar with that expression Robert's wearing. "Homesick?"

Robert shrugs dismissively. "It reminds me a bit of England, I s'pose, with how close together the buildings are."

So that profound longing must be for something else, then. It takes Jimmy a moment to figure it out. "You want a home, don't you?"

Robert actually looks at him this time, so, yeah, Jimmy thinks he's hit the mark. "I've been a wanderer for a very long time," he explains, his blond curls flapping in the slight breeze. "To me, a home represents happiness. You've either made a success of yourself, or you've got a family. Or, if you're real lucky, you've got both."

"I thought money couldn't buy happiness, you dirty hippie," Jimmy teases.

"Maybe not, but it sure can stave off sadness, and isn't that what we're all trying to do?"

"Whoa, deep." They continue down the road, watching as the sun begins to set beyond the hills. "A family, huh? I wouldn't mind having one of those either," Jimmy says, trying to be casual and burning a lot of calories doing it.

"Are you much of a dog person?"

"They're alright, I guess."

"Cats?"

Jimmy shrugs. "I never had a pet growing up. Well, I had some tropical fish up until I finished college, but I wouldn't really count them as pets. I'm okay with animals as long as they're not some freakish exotic pet like spiders or snakes or shit like that."

"How exotic would you say horses are?"

Jimmy laughs, lifts an eyebrow. "Well, maybe if you live on a farm..."

They walk a little slower, enjoying the scenery and the way the earth feels under their feet as they descend the incline of the hills. It's dark by the time they get back to the motel, and Jimmy unlocks the door, unthinking, so he really shouldn't be so offended when he finds Bonzo and Jonesy in one of the beds. They're covered by the blankets, but Jimmy can figure out what's going on underneath there. His mind's eye can kind of imagine it, too, which is all kinds of unpleasant. "Fucking hell!" Jimmy shouts, immediately turning away and covering his eyes.

"I was wonderin' when you two were gonna make it back," Bonzo says. He's lying on top of Jonesy, and Jimmy fears he might crush the poor thing. "We thought about sendin' out a search party."

"And the first place you decided to look was Jonesy's ass?" Jimmy attempts to navigate the room through the spaces between his fingers. He stumbles over a shoe on the floor, then Robert's warm hands are at his sides, righting him.

"You act like you've never seen a naked man before," Robert says with a laugh.

Jimmy manages to get Robert's gifts tucked away in his suitcase without incurring any injuries.

Robert actually drops onto the bed where Bonzo and Jonesy are, uh, involved, and lies across their feet. "Have you chaps eaten yet?"

Bonzo looks mildly amused by how comfortable Robert is with them. "No, we thought we'd wait for you guys unless it got too late."

"Well, let's get going, then! I'm starved."

Jimmy's about to say something snarky about Robert's appetite when he realizes they completely forgot to eat lunch today. Oops.

Someone—probably Jonesy—kicks Robert from underneath the covers, and Robert falls off the bed. He lies on his back, laughing and looking up at the ceiling. "We're not going anywhere until we're finished," Jonesy says, his hands tightening over Bonzo's back.

"Jesus Christ," Jimmy mutters, because these two are unbelievable. Lying on the tiny, circular kitchen table are some flyers and leaflets for local restaurants, and Jimmy flips through them, desperate to look at something that isn't two of his dearest friends fornicating. "Why don't we just order pizza to the room?"

"I just want food," Robert says from the floor.

"Okay, so Robert doesn't care... What about you guys?"

"Fine with me," Bonzo sort of grunts, and Jimmy doesn't even want to know what that's about.

"Hey, Sunflower, c'mon, let's blow this joint and pick up some beer."

Robert bounces to his feet, presumably excited because he heard the words 'blow,' 'joint,' and 'beer' in the same sentence.

"I got some cash in my wallet if you need it," Bonzo says. "Should be in my jeans."

Jimmy and Robert exchange looks, because Bonzo's jeans are currently lying on the floor, tossed aside in a moment of passion, along with the rest of his and Jonesy's clothes. "I'm not sticking my hand in there," Jimmy says.

Robert sighs like Jimmy is the worst and fishes Bonzo's wallet out of the back pocket. He plucks out two bills—Jimmy can't see the denominations—but not before ogling at Bonzo's license. "John Henry Bonham! Hey, you can't possibly be a hundred and fifty pounds!"

"Old license," Bonzo says.

"Ah, that explains why you haven't got your beard in the photo." Robert shuts the wallet and replaces it in Bonzo's crumpled heap of denim.

Jimmy moves for the door. "You guys better be finished and at least halfway clothed when we come back."

"Or what, you gonna ground us,  _Dad_?" Bonzo snipes.

"Or you don't get any beer," Jimmy says with a fake smile before shutting the door as he leaves.

Thankfully, Bonzo and Jonesy follow orders, and they're watching some crappy movie on the tiny motel television and are no longer naked when Robert and Jimmy return. Granted, Bonzo's wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts, but technically he's halfway clothed.

There's only two chairs in the motel room, and the table is much too small for four people, so when the food arrives they set up camp on the floor. The pizza boxes and the six-pack of Budweiser are placed ceremoniously in the center of their little foursome, and everyone digs in with gusto.

"I feel like I'm back in college again," Jimmy laughs.

"Speaking of uni," Robert says with a mouthful of pizza, "Pagey drew these wonderful designs for one of his art classes, and I think we should all get one tattooed!"

"We agreed that it would be just us," Jimmy says, wary, because he thinks Bonzo and Jonesy should know this wasn't his idea.

"I think it would be a better statement as a group if we all did it together. Y'know, solidarity and such. Pagey's very talented, and we ought to show him we support him."

Jimmy blushes, overwhelmed. "I, um, you guys don't have to—"

"What do they look like?" Bonzo asks.

"Oh, um, the sketchbook's in the van."

"I'll wait."

Well, shit. Jimmy takes a long drink of beer and leaves the room. He comes back with the sketchbook, opens it to the page with the four symbols and spreads it out so the others can see. "They're not really that great, I guess," he says, feeling like he ought to apologize for Robert's candor.

"Simple, but simple is good," Jonesy says. He's wiggling his toes in the white shag rug on the floor.

Jimmy explains, "The two on the top are the ones Robert and I want. So I guess you're stuck with the ones on the bottom." The remaining two designs are three circles and three diamonds intersecting.

"I like the circle one, I guess," Bonzo says.

"Oh, hey, I just noticed, mine is kinda inside of yours," Jonesy says, using the tip of his pinky finger to point out where the circles interconnect and sort of create what will be Jonesy's symbol. "See?"

Bonzo smirks and chuckles. "Yeah, that's pretty cool."

"It works on two different levels," Jonesy's saying. "We can support Jimmy and each other at the same time."

Bonzo scratches his beard like he's making a difficult decision. "Alright, I can dig it."

Robert cheers and lifts his beer bottle in a mock toast. "To Pagey!"

"To Jim." Jonesy lifts his bottle, too, and Jimmy is infinitely confused.

Bonzo picks up his beer. "To Princess Page."

This is actually happening. Jimmy isn't sure what else to do but lift his bottle and say, "Go me," before downing his drink.

Later that night, as they're all tucked into bed, Robert cuddles closer to Jimmy, his arms encircling his waist and murmurs, "Thank you," at his ear. Jimmy shivers under the heat of his breath.

"For what?"

"For cheering me up," Robert says, as though it's obvious. "You really lifted my spirits."

"How?" Jimmy doesn't think he did anything particularly special today.

"Well, you showed me that the world is still beautiful and full of good things," Robert explains, his voice low at Jimmy's ear. "And even though Elvis is gone, his music's still around and always will be. In a way, that makes him live forever."

"I'm sorry, how did I have anything to do with this?" Jimmy asks around a yawn.

"Being surrounded by friends and loved ones is the best way to beat back the gloom."

Jimmy's exhausted, so that's a decent enough answer for tonight.

* * *

They make it into Philadelphia the next afternoon. After a quick lunch, they find a tattoo parlor and get inked. Jonesy is a bit of a baby about it, wincing and whimpering as the needle vibrates over the skin of his upper arm.

"Don't be a pussy," Jimmy calls from the next chair, his legs sprawled out while a lithe, sexy blonde draws the "ZoSo" design around his hip.

The blonde, Charlotte, huffs laughter at his crude humor, and she's close enough that Jimmy can feel the heat of her breath against his skin. "You're a really talented artist," she says, clearly flirting with him—as though the way she's positioned isn't sending the message. At a quick glance, it looks like she's about to give him a blowjob.

"Hey, so are you," Jimmy says. Between the sexy blonde between his legs and the buzz of the needle over his skin, he's unfairly turned on by all of this. "No eraser."

Charlotte laughs again, and Jimmy steals a quick glance at Robert, who's sitting in the waiting area with Bonzo and trying very hard to look interested in the Time magazine he's reading. But the way his knuckles have gone white tells Jimmy that Robert is jealous. What an absurd concept.

When Jonesy's finished, Bonzo goes next, because the male tattoo artist probably doesn't want to give Robert a tramp stamp. Bonzo sits stoic in the chair, and Robert pokes at Jonesy's newly-inked arm, because he's a little shit sometimes.

"So, where are you from?" Charlotte asks Jimmy, and he can smell her hair from here—strawberry, maybe?

"Hollywood."

"And what are you doing in Philly?"

"Well, the Elton John song made it sound pretty great," Jimmy says, because he can't stop being a facetious asshole. "We're just roving around the country in the Midlife Crisis Mobile out there." He points with his chin to the van sitting in front of the shop.

"You look awful young to have a midlife crisis," Charlotte points out, her hand wrapping around Jimmy's hip and tilting him a bit. "Maybe you're just homesick for a place you've never been."

Jimmy thinks about that for a few seconds. "Yeah, maybe."

Charlotte does Robert's tattoo when she's finished with Jimmy, and she flirts with him, too, her fingers dangerously close to his ass as she inks the design on that low dip of his spine. Through Robert's giggly laughter, Jimmy learns that he's ticklish, which he's absolutely taking advantage of at the next possible opportunity.

Robert doesn't discourage the flirting, even flirts back. Jonesy seems to find this worrying. "You're not jealous?" he whispers to Jimmy.

"Robert's queer as a tangerine," Jimmy snickers. "What's to be jealous of?"

"You never know," Jonesy says with a shrug. "I dated a lot of girls before I met a guy I really liked."

"Yeah, but you were a teenager. If Robert hasn't popped a boner over a woman in almost thirty years, he's probably not gonna start now."

Jonesy looks like he wants to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut.

They eat dinner at a dreamily intimate restaurant with twinkling white lights hanging overhead. Throughout the meal, Robert keeps edging his hand underneath the hem of Jimmy's t-shirt and grazing his fingers over the tattoo. Jimmy tries to return the favor, but Robert squishes up against the vinyl seat and prohibits Jimmy's hand from squeezing in. Every now and then, Robert's hand finds its way between Jimmy's thighs, and Jimmy gasps and quickly crosses his legs. If Bonzo and Jonesy notice these under-the-table flirtations, they don't mention it.

When the four of them get to a motel, this thing is fucking  _on_. Jimmy pins Robert against the purple velvet bedding and kisses him hard and deep. Robert's hands are everywhere—pushed under Jimmy's shirt, exploring the curve of his spine, dragging up his ribs, thumbs tweaking his nipples. Jimmy groans around Robert's mouth and grinds into his hips. "I want you so much," Jimmy breathes when he can get a word in. Robert tastes amazing and kisses like he doesn't know how to stop.

Robert laughs an adorable sound and pulls Jimmy's t-shirt over his head. Jimmy strips it off and tosses it somewhere by the couch. He covers Robert's mouth with his own, nipping at his bottom lip and moaning as Robert cups his ass with one hand and traces over the tattoo with the other. He doesn't know what this means, where it came from, or where it's going. Whatever this is, Jimmy wants it, and he doesn't care.

"Shit," he huffs out, his gaze flicking to where Robert's touching him. Robert sits up and pushes Jimmy against the bed. Jimmy goes willingly, then Robert goes with him, laying kisses over his chest, twirling his tongue around Jimmy's nipples. Jimmy's not a huge fan of having his nipples played with, but Robert is so eager and attentive, grinning against his skin when Jimmy makes a noise. Robert kisses his way down Jimmy's body until he reaches the tattoo, then his tongue traces over the design, wet and slick on Jimmy's skin.

Jimmy hears himself groan, "Oh, fuck," then Robert's tugging Jimmy's jeans and underwear down so he can see and taste all of the ink. Jimmy's skin is still sensitive, but Robert is gentle with him, pressing soft kisses over his tattoo after his tongue glides over it. Jimmy digs his hands into Robert's hair and sighs, his body quaking under Robert's mouth. He's not even getting blown yet, but the heat of Robert's breath is so close to his dick, and the hyper-sensitive skin under his tattoo is almost a new erogenous zone.

Robert makes quick work of the rest of Jimmy's clothes so he can suck kisses into his inner thighs. Jimmy gasps and wriggles in the blankets, his fists full of velvet as Robert moves closer to his cock. Robert goes down on him, diligent as always, his tongue tracking the bulging vein on the underside of Jimmy's dick, and Jimmy has to tug at his hair to make him stop.

"What's wrong?" Robert asks, looking heartbroken that Jimmy isn't appreciating his oral sex skills.

"I want—I wanna try something," Jimmy breathes out, his heart beating against his ribcage. He sits up and manages to say, "I wanna fuck you," without his voice breaking.

Blood pools under Robert's cheeks. "Oh—oh, that's—you can do that." Neither of them seem to be moving, as though stunned by this revelation. Robert glances at Jimmy's dick, hard against his stomach, before bending over the side of the bed and digging through his bag.

Jimmy knows an opportunity when he sees one, and he can see a faint tease of Robert's tattoo in the gap between his shirt and jeans, so he scoots closer and pushes Robert's shirt up enough to place a kiss over the ink. He can hear Robert's breath hitch in his chest, and he lays his tongue flat, tasting the sweat prickling on his skin. Robert makes a quiet little whining sound, and Jimmy drags his teeth down the tattoo. He's in the middle of working Robert's jeans down his hips when Robert tosses a plastic bottle onto the bed.

Jimmy studies the bottle curiously. "And you gave me shit for bringing porn? Why did you bring lube in the first place? You didn't even know I liked dudes."

"Because I couldn't possibly have picked it up at some point during the trip," Robert says, and, yeah, clearly he needed to learn sarcasm just to use it against Jimmy.

"Sneaky bastard."

Robert sheds his clothes while Jimmy tries to get the bottle open. He's mostly preoccupied watching Robert strip, though. Robert's finished undressing before Jimmy figures out how fingers work, so he moves closer, impossibly close, and opens the bottle for him. He gets his hand slick and strokes Jimmy's dick, pressing hot kisses over his mouth. Robert's naked body really is a sight to behold, and Jimmy doesn't know how to handle the fact that he's going to be inside of him.

"Don't you dare make fun of me if this is humiliatingly brief," Jimmy grumbles around his mouth. His hands are shaking, and Robert straddles his hips, his knees on either side of Jimmy.

"That just gives us an excuse to try again," Robert says, ever the optimist, and he guides Jimmy right up to his slick hole. Jimmy's sort of paralyzed, too nervous to make a move, so Robert eases down and sinks upon him. It's slippery, and warm, and oh so tight, and Jimmy makes a noise that's overshadowed by Robert's heavenly moan. Robert's hands go tight over Jimmy's back, fingers dragging down his spine.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," Jimmy chokes out, his hips pushing into that tight, wet heat. Robert groans in appreciation and grinds into the sloppy rhythm Jimmy's got going here. Jimmy drives in again, and he's buried to the hilt, and he can hear his heartbeat in his throat. "Fuck, Robert, oh God," he gasps, his hands clutching Robert's hips just for something to hold on to. Robert is making the hottest noises Jimmy's ever heard, his breath hot against Jimmy's shoulder as they move together, finding a rhythm.

Jimmy wants very badly to kiss him right now, so he reaches up for Robert's face and guides him to his mouth. Robert seems to like kissing during sex, and Jimmy lets his hands explore his body, the way his muscles clench and loosen as he moves. Robert digs his fingers into Jimmy's back, gives a quiet yelp when Jimmy rubs his thumb over a nipple. He plucks at the nub, and if Jimmy wasn't already hard he definitely would be after hearing the noise Robert makes at that. So, Robert's into nipple play; Jimmy stores that information away for a later date.

Jimmy's dick already feels bruised, and he's certain he's going to come pretty soon. He fucks harder into Robert, trying to get himself there, and the way Robert's grinding him makes Jimmy's center of gravity give up. He falls back against the bed, and now Robert's on top of him, riding his cock, and this is good too, really good. Robert has his hands braced on Jimmy's stomach, his head tipped back as he sighs Jimmy's name over and over, and this is at least twice as amazing as any sex he's ever had.

Robert's shaking as he folds at the waist, his jittery hands finding Jimmy's own and lacing their fingers together. His hair pools on Jimmy's chest, his breath hot as he begs, "Come in me, Pagey, please," and evidently Jimmy's good at taking directions, because he's coming and coming as stars explode behind his eyes. Robert makes a noise Jimmy absolutely wants to hear again, then he feels something sticky-wet on his stomach, and Robert's rocking into his half-assed thrusts until he just can't anymore.

Jimmy gazes up at the ceiling as his atoms reconvene and piece themselves together again. He's sort of petting Robert's hair, but Robert doesn't seem to mind, equally exhausted and thoroughly well-fucked. Robert's cheek is squished against Jimmy's chest, and Jimmy can feel his breath there. He wonders if Robert can hear the manic thrum of his heartbeat. Jimmy trails his fingers down Robert's spine, presses over the spot where the tattoo is. Robert sighs a contented noise, and Jimmy can't resist putting his fingers inside of him, since Robert's thighs are spread open.

Robert grunts a helpless noise and pushes his hips into Jimmy's hand. He's slick and tight there, so Jimmy's careful with him, experimenting with gentle pressure. "I bet I could make you come like this," he murmurs, and Robert squirms.

Jimmy makes good on that bet, then Robert drags him into the shower to show his appreciation.

Afterwards, Jimmy's toweling off his hair in the mirror while Robert digs through Jimmy's suitcase for his pajamas. "What is this?" Robert says, and Jimmy turns his head to see him opening the bag containing his birthday presents.

Jimmy shouts, "No!" and dives for Robert. "I told you it's a surprise!" Robert clutches the bag to his chest as Jimmy wrestles him to the ground. He loses the towel around his waist in the melee, so Robert's momentarily distracted by his nudity. Then Robert starts laughing. "Now I've got to know what's in here!"

"Hand it over!" Jimmy orders, his fingers jabbing and tickling Robert's sides, trying to get him to let go.

"Pagey!" Robert shrieks through breathy laughter. His legs flail in a particularly hilarious way, and one of his feet lands square in Jimmy's midsection. Jimmy makes an "oof" sound and falls flat on his back, and now they're both laughing.

"Shit," Jimmy groans, chuckling as he sits up. He finds his towel discarded on the floor and wraps it around his waist. "Alright, alright, you can open the damn thing. I wanted to wait 'til your birthday, but obviously that's not happening." He can still give Robert the book on his birthday, so not all is lost.

Robert looks stunned, sitting up and gazing at Jimmy in wonder. He glances at the bag in his hands. "This is for me?"

"What kind of surprise did you think it was?"

"I don't know," Robert admits, sheepish. "But I never thought it was for me. I mean, you already gave me my presents."

"Then these are gonna seem really underwhelming. But I figured you should have something to open on your birthday."

"Oh, Pagey... Maybe I shouldn't—"

"Don't worry about it. We're only"—Jimmy glances at the clock—"a little over twenty-four hours early. Close enough." He moves closer and slings an arm around Robert's shoulders. "And I'll take you somewhere special on your birthday. That sound good?"

Robert smiles, his eyes glistening. "You really are the greatest, y'know that?"

"You might wanna withhold judgement until you open your presents," Jimmy says around a laugh.

"Oh, rubbish, I'm sure they're wonderful." Robert reaches into the bag and pulls out a box of earl grey tea, a box of Welsh brew, then he turns the bag over and dumps out a pile of various British candies. The mountain of sweets includes Freddos, Bounty bars, a Double Decker, Twix bars, Starbars, and a tray of fruit-shaped marzipan candy. "Pagey..." he gasps, sounding awed. "This is... You remembered."

"'S'what I do," Jimmy says with a smile. "You can probably brew up the tea using the coffeemaker."

Robert's still sort of staring at the pile of loot. "No one's ever done anything like this for me..."

"No one's bought you candy before?"

Robert shakes his head, his curls swaying. "It's not that. Look at all you've done for my birthday."

"Because I love you," Jimmy says, feeling a sense of righteous conviction swirling throughout him when he says the words. "More than anything. You make me happier than I've ever been, and I wanna make you feel the same way."

Robert looks at him in a way that makes Jimmy swoon a little. "You already do."

"Oh, well, then..." Jimmy plucks a Freddo bar out of the pile. "You won't mind if I eat some of your candy."


	17. Strange Magic

They spend most of the next day tooling around Philadelphia's Old City. Robert and Jonesy take plenty of pictures of the historical sights: the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, Congress Hall, and Christ Church. They're surrounded by classic Colonial architecture, which Jonesy frequently points out and spazzes over. Everything is in shades of bright green foliage and brick buildings, and Jimmy wonders what it might be like to make a life here with Robert.

Over lunch at La Famiglia, Robert drops some not-so-subtle hints about visiting New York City, then they're back on the road a half hour later. Jonesy proudly announces he's been to New York before, so Jimmy lets him drive, content to lie down in the back with Robert while Bonzo sits shotgun.

"I never thought I'd pass thirty," Jimmy says to Robert as the van's cruising down the New Jersey Turnpike. Robert's holding him in his arms, leaning against the back of the front seat. Jimmy's sort of lying between Robert's legs, his head resting on Robert's chest. "And I don't feel it. I don't feel thirty-three, y'know? It feels more like a race against time, like I've missed some sort of deadline, and my chances of ever getting it right are fading fast."

"Hey, try not to make it sound all gloom and doom. I'll be twenty-nine tomorrow. 'Sides, you're only as old as you feel."

Jimmy sighs. "I feel like I'm a thousand years old."

"You look fantastic for your age! And you're not a bad shag for an old guy." Jimmy snickers and sinks into Robert's embrace. "When's your birthday, anyway?"

"January 9th."

"Oh, you've got plenty of time."

"For what?"

"To realize your hopes and dreams before you hit thirty-four. Or at least get started on them. You've got to stop worrying about all this," Robert says, lifting one of Jimmy's hands and rubbing his thumb over the jagged, worn edges of Jimmy's fingernails.

"I only bite my nails when I'm not smoking," Jimmy protests. Robert just raises Jimmy's hand to his mouth and kisses his fingertips.

Jimmy ends up dozing off in Robert's arms, only waking up when Robert gasps, "Pagey, look!" and moves to look out the window. Jimmy sort of topples to the van floor, dazed and half-awake. When he drags himself up on his knees, he sees the neon lights and bustle of Times Square, the theater marquees boasting primarily adult-oriented flicks.

"So, you've been here before, Jonesy?" Robert says with a hint of mischief in his voice.

"Shut up," Jonesy grumbles, his face flushing red. "It wasn't always like this."

"I feel like we're gonna get stabbed if we stay here," Jimmy says. It might look fun during the day, but at night Times Square becomes a sinister trading post for drug dealers and pimps.

"I like not being stabbed." Robert.

"Take a good look, Robert, 'cause we're turning around." Bonzo.

They end up settling in a quaint hotel in Greenwich Village. It's about a twenty-minute drive from Times Square, but it might as well be another world. Robert and Jonesy appreciate the cozy feel of the town. Its buildings are mostly mid-rise apartments and 19th century row houses, and there's enough greenery and bohemian charm that it doesn't feel like a cold, corporate-driven community.

They walk around amongst the coffee houses, the wine bars, and restaurants until night falls. They pass by what must be a nightclub due to the throbbing deep bass Jimmy feels in his chest, and Robert stops to study the unassuming building. There's no velvet rope, no steroid-hungry bouncers guarding the entrance, so Robert pushes open the door and guides them inside.

It takes Jimmy's eyes a moment to adjust—somehow it's darker inside than outside. The club is dark with neon swatches of color and has a sound system that assaults the senses. There's a laser show, and the dance floor is lit up in multi-colored tiles. But, staring at the sea of bodies, Jimmy notices something unusual.

"Um, Robert, everyone in here is a dude."

Bonzo laughs. "That's usually how it works in a gay club."

There's a lot of glistening, bare skin, and some of the guys are wearing shimmery, spangly outfits. Jimmy feels very out of place. "I think I look too straight to be in here."

"Well, I don't," Robert says, posing emphatically and tossing his mane over his shoulder. And, yeah, in his painted-on jeans and open, flowery blouse, Robert fits right in here.

Robert pulls them in the direction of the bar and manages to score a free drink through flirting with the bartender. Jimmy gets a perverse thrill out of watching every nearby head turn for a second glance at Robert. Or maybe they're looking at Jimmy himself. Jimmy's been in lots of nightclubs before, but never a gay club, never a place where he's treated like eye candy by men. He doesn't know how to feel about it, but he knows it probably shouldn't turn him on like it does.

Maybe there's something else at work here. Maybe he's just thrilled that people of any gender or sexual orientation find him attractive, since he's been bemoaning the loss of his good looks once he hit thirty.

Yeah, sure.

They get good and plastered, just drunk enough to indulge in whatever questionable decisions their liquor-soaked brains conjure up. There's a stripper pole on the stage, and it's amateur night. Robert watches some try-hard shmuck gyrating onstage to a Donna Summer song. "He's not even that good!" Robert whines in offense to Jimmy. "He's just doing the same two moves over and over!"

"You could do better?" It's just a curious question, but Robert seems to take it as a challenge, because he's wearing his prissy annoyed face.

"I'll show you," he says, frowning as drunk, horny dudes throw money at an unskilled dancer solely due to his physique. Some things, it seems, are universal.

When Mr. Uncoordinated is finished, Robert rises from his seat and disappears into the mass of anonymous, sweat-slicked bodies. Jimmy hopes and prays Robert's overconfidence doesn't cause him to make an ass out of himself.

As soon as the music starts though, Jimmy gets the sinking feeling he's about to be utterly and totally wrecked, because Robert's chosen Kiss' "Strutter" for tonight's show, and, holy hell, can he move his hips. Jimmy's vaguely aware of his jaw dropping, because Jonesy reaches over and closes it for him.

"Wow, he's not bad," Jonesy says, which is the understatement of the fucking century. Robert is a moving, sinuous dedication to everything Jimmy's ever dreamed about. His hips undulate like a snake, slow and sensual, and it somehow fits with the beat of the music. Amateur night is over, because Robert is destroying any and all competition.

Jimmy hears catcalls and whistles and indecent compliments shouted from the audience, and even though he's been in strip clubs before, somehow it's different when the dancer on stage is  _his_ , when he's kissed those lips and had those hips rock back and forth on his cock. Jimmy's stricken with a strong surge of jealousy, of possessiveness, but the men are throwing money on stage, and Robert looks pretty self-satisfied with being objectified like this.

Robert strips off his shirt with a teasing smile, and Bonzo whistles and shouts, "Take it off, baby!" before Jimmy slugs him in the arm. But he doesn't take his eyes off the stage, just watches in awe as Robert shakes his ass and gyrates his hips in ways that are probably illegal in a few states. Every movement goes straight to Jimmy's cock, and it's taking all of his willpower not to stick his hand down his jeans and jerk himself off.

As though reading his mind, Robert runs a hand down his bare torso, fingers disappearing into his jeans, and the crowd goes wild, tossing more money in his direction. Jimmy makes a strangled gasping noise as his jaw drops again. Jonesy closes it for him, shaking his head like he can't understand why Jimmy's mind is being blown the fuck away here.

Then Robert works the pole with grace and sexuality, bending in ways Jimmy never imagined he could be capable of. His body twists and stretches, and Jimmy feels the heat pooling low in his groin. Robert's tattoo is on full display, which is probably contributing to some of the bills being thrown onto the stage.

He spins his way down the pole and lands in a pornographic split just as the song ends. The crowd erupts into cheers, and some of them rush the edge of the stage to tuck bills into Robert's jeans. Robert is sweet and appreciative, and it takes Jimmy a moment to get his boner under control before he stands up and heads over to where Robert's gleefully accepting tips.

"Pagey!" Robert's already sunny smile brightens when he spots Jimmy moving toward him. "What'd you think?"

"What the fuck," Jimmy says around a laugh. "When'd you learn to do that, Sunflower?"

"I used to dance back in England for extra money. I was quite popular. They called me the Golden God."

Jimmy wets his lips. "It's amateur night, Robert, not seasoned professional night."

Robert laughs and fetches his shirt and sandals from the stage. "So you liked it?"

"You can't tell?" Jimmy asks, gesturing to the ridiculous hard-on he's sporting.

"The lighting ain't so good in here." Robert pulls his shirt on, steps into his sandals and hooks an arm through Jimmy's own. Jimmy lets Robert lead him to the bar, where a few shot glasses are already lined up in Robert's honor. Jimmy smirks as they sit at the bar and down the shots, surrounded by Robert's energized "fans." They can look and fantasize and even buy him drinks, but only Jimmy gets to take Robert apart at night and fuck him senseless.

"You're fuckin' awesome," some guy covered in glitter says to Robert, and they do a shot together. Robert's still got his arm linked around Jimmy's own, their fingers intertwined, and Jimmy has a knee-jerk moment of fear before he remembers that Robert practically did a strip-tease in a room full of gay men. It's okay for them to be what they are here.

Since he's won over the crowd, Robert's money is no good here. Shots and beers and stiff drinks accumulate in front of him faster than he and Jimmy can drink them, so he starts sending them down to Bonzo and Jonesy. Jimmy knocks back the whiskey shots, and Robert drinks the fruitier, colorful concoctions.

"I don't get 'Margaritaville'," Jimmy's saying after some time has passed, squeezing the lime on a cocktail a guy with a ridiculous mustache bought for Robert a while ago. "Why would you cut an awesome vacation short just 'cause you stepped on a bottle cap?"

Robert chuckles and slides the glass away from Jimmy. "Pagey, I think you've hit your limit, yeah?"

"'M fine," Jimmy protests, dragging the glass back and circling his finger around the salted rim. "Doesn't that part bother you? It always bothers me. What kind of shitty island is the guy on where they don't have a first aid kit? No, he's gotta go all the way home for a cut on his heel."

"Maybe by 'home' he's talking about his hotel room," Robert says, playing along. "But saying 'cut my heel, had to cruise back to the hotel' would've ruined the rhyme scheme."

"Maybe." Jimmy takes a long drink that leaves his lips salty and bitter. "Speaking of going back to the hotel..." He curls a hand in the front of Robert's shirt, pulls him closer so he can murmur into his ear. "I want you."

Robert exhales a quiet sound of arousal, and he's close enough that Jimmy can hear it over the throb of the music.

"All these guys looking at you, wanting you, but you're mine," Jimmy coos, sliding a hand up Robert's thigh. "I wanna fuck you."

Robert looks at him and wets his lips, his cheeks pinked and flustered. "Should we, um..." He glances at Jonesy and Bonzo.

"Don't worry about Tweedle-dick and Tweedle-balls. They know where the hotel is."

Jimmy takes Robert's hand in his own and slides off his barstool. Robert manages to choke out a goodbye to Bonzo and Jonesy before Jimmy's dragging him out the door and into the night air. Jimmy doesn't let go until they're in the motel room, and he shoves Robert onto the rumpled sheets, climbs on top of him and covers that sinful mouth with his own. Robert's hands slide over his skin, but Jimmy's fucking done with foreplay. He needs to be inside of Robert right now or he might actually die.

Jimmy's tearing open denim, pushing his hands inside Robert's underwear and shoving them down his hips. Robert kicks his way free of his jeans and helps Jimmy strip out of his own clothes. Jimmy pulls his shirt over his head, and it lands slung over the bedside lamp. He scrambles away for a moment, standing up to step out of his shoes and jeans. Robert's already digging through his bag for the lube. When he finds it, he tosses the bottle to Jimmy as his knees settle on either side of Robert's hips. They move as though it's a choreographed dance, like this isn't only the second time they've done this. Jimmy slicks himself up, teases a lubed finger between Robert's open thighs.

Robert makes a sharp, heated noise, lifting his hips, and Jimmy's tempted to push in and watch Robert fuck himself on his fingers, but his cock is straining and throbbing, and he's waited far too long for this.

Jimmy settles himself into Robert, slowly, lets Robert open around him and take him in. Then it's raw and frantic and primal, and Jimmy's shoving in hard and quick, one hand clutched around Robert's hip and the other braced against the headboard. Robert's spine is a graceful curve, his ass lifted off of the mattress and shoving into Jimmy's messy thrusts. Jimmy feels Robert's nails scraping down his thigh, down the slope of his back. The room is filled with the slick, wet noises of their union, with Robert's mewling cries of, "Oh, Jimmy," with Jimmy's low and ragged breathing, with the rattle of the headboard banging against the wall.

Jimmy doesn't even need to touch Robert's dick to make him come, just keeps shoving until hot white ropes spurt from his pretty, pink cock. Robert goes impossibly tight, his body twitching and clenching as soft cries pass through his lips. A hoarse shout scrapes through Jimmy's throat, and he shudders through his orgasm, filling Robert up. Robert squirms and sighs and rocks his hips into the way Jimmy's fucking him through the aftershocks.

When Jimmy eases out, he can't help but glance between Robert's open thighs and watch the cum leaking there. His belly is striped with jizz, and it's one of the hottest fucking things Jimmy's ever seen. Robert reaches for him and pulls Jimmy to his mouth. Jimmy sort of falls on top of him, and now their stomachs are slick with semen, and Jimmy doesn't even care, because Robert is the most enthusiastic kisser he's ever met. Robert wraps his arms around Jimmy's waist, his fingers teasing at the dip of his spine.

"God, I love you," Robert breathes out, capturing Jimmy's mouth again and again.

Jimmy sputters a laugh, and Robert moves his kisses up to his jaw, nibbles at his earlobe. "Did I fuck some brain cells outta you?"

Robert does that crooked smile thing that ties Jimmy's insides into knots. "Always so self-deprecating. Why can't you believe that I love you?"

"Because no one who really knows me could ever love me."

"Well, that's a load of bollocks," Robert says before pressing a kiss to Jimmy's sweat-prickled brow. "We can't ever truly see how wonderful we are. That's why it takes someone else to point it out to us. And, in turn, we do the same for them."

"Have I done that for you?" Jimmy asks, resting his head on Robert's still-heaving chest.

"Of course you have."

Jimmy brings a thumb up to tweak Robert's nipple, and Robert squirms beneath him, moaning a heavenly sound. Jimmy pushes himself up on his elbows so he can give the sensitive little nub the proper attention, flicking it with his tongue before opening his mouth around it. "Oh, fuck... I'll be up for round two pretty soon if you keep that up," Robert huffs out.

Jimmy grins and hums around his nipple. "Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Plant?"

Robert chuckles. "Y'know, I never quite got the ending of that flick. I thought it was s'posed to be a happy ending, with them ending up together and all."

"Well, maybe you were watching it wrong. The only reason they ran off together was to rebel against their parents and society." Jimmy's inner film geek has awakened, and there's no stopping him now. "The ending is s'posed to show them realizing what they've committed to. When there's no more authority to fight against, it hits them that maybe it wasn't the right choice. Ben and Elaine are doomed to repeat the same mistakes Mrs. Robinson and her husband made."

"You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?"

"A movie about a wayward protagonist who makes questionable life choices? Sign me the fuck up. I'm all about The Graduate."

Robert laughs, and Jimmy can feel Robert's cock hardening against his thigh. "And I'm all about the way you were touching me a second ago. Why don't you keep doin' that, and we can talk later?"

Jimmy's down for anything if it means he gets to be inside of Robert again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last pure "happy" chapter before shit goes down. I hope you enjoyed it. :)


	18. Happenings Ten Years Time Ago

Jimmy wakes Robert up with soft kisses as the morning light bleeds through the curtains behind the bed. "Happy birthday, babe. You feel any older?"

Robert laughs a quiet sound in his throat, raw and scratchy with sleep. "Mm, not really."

Jimmy eases a hand over Robert's bare hip and finds him hot and hard. "Well, since it's your birthday, I guess I'll take care of this for you," he says, his thumb rubbing the sensitive spot under the head. Robert's hips jerk into his touch, and Jimmy grins. "Want me to suck your cock, Sunflower?"

Robert grows harder in Jimmy's loose fist, so Jimmy's taking that as a yes. He turns Robert so he's flat on his back, nuzzles the trail of hair leading to Robert's cock, his mouth dragging over skin. Robert raises his hips, his hands sliding into Jimmy's hair and gripping tight. Jimmy swallows him down the best he can, and Robert moans a long whine that makes Jimmy grin around him.

Jimmy makes sure to do a good job, sucking hard on the head when he bobs up and swallowing him as deep as he can when he goes down. He loves the sounds Robert makes when he's getting blown, loves the way he tastes and feels. Jimmy can't deep-throat him yet, but he wants to, wants to give Robert the best blowjob he's ever had. It's his birthday, goddamn it. The guy deserves some mind-blowing head.

Jimmy decides to just fucking go for it and slides the whole thing into his mouth. Robert chokes on a moan, his hips making an aborted thrust, like he wants to jackhammer Jimmy's throat but thinks better of it. Jimmy almost gags when the tip hits the back of his throat, but he swallows the feeling down and focuses on making this good for Robert. It's sloppy and wet, and Robert is twisting his fingers in Jimmy's hair, his breath hitching in his chest as he gasps Jimmy's name. Jimmy's mouth is full, and he's salivating a little, but Robert seems like he's into this.

Jimmy works his lips around the hilt and hums, and Robert comes just like that, shooting down Jimmy's throat, hot and gooey and perfect. Jimmy sputters and pulls away, but he can still taste Robert on his lips. Apologetic, Jimmy sinks down again and mouths over Robert's softening cock, gathering every last drop.

"God, Pagey, I can't—I can't believe you did that," Robert huffs, propped on his elbows to watch the way Jimmy's suckling the head of his cock.

"I said I would."

"You didn't say it was gonna be anything like _that_." Robert flips his hair out of his face, gazing at Jimmy with a mix of awe and lust.

"I thought I'd go the extra mile for your birthday." Jimmy climbs up Robert's body and kisses the laughter out of his mouth. "I got something else for you, too." Robert's eyes sort of sparkle for a moment. "It's nothing sexual. Do you still want it?"

"Of course I do!" Robert exclaims, as though there was never any other answer.

Jimmy rolls to the other side of the bed and reaches underneath. His fingers find the lip of the box where he's stashing his books. He tugs and pulls, digs until he finds what he's looking for. "I saw this when we were in Ohio and thought you might enjoy it." He presents Robert with a crisp, first-edition hardcover of The Fellowship of the Ring.

Robert sits up, stunned, and holds the book in his hands like it's the actual One Ring. "Pagey... This must have cost a fortune."

"Eh, you're worth it," Jimmy says with a shrug and a smile.

Robert blinks, and Jimmy thinks he sees wetness forming on his lashes. "I feel like I should do something to show my gratitude..."

"Hey now, whose birthday is it?"

"Mine." Robert smiles at him, gingerly places the book on the bedside table. "And if I want to thank you in my own _special_ way, I will."

Jimmy's not going to argue with that.

The rest of the day runs pretty smoothly. Jimmy takes Robert to breakfast at a nearby café, then they retire to the motel room for, uh, personal time. Bonzo and Jonesy spend the day walking around town, which lets Jimmy relax and take his time with Robert, learning how to touch him in ways that make him arch and plead and beg.

When night falls, Jimmy treats Robert to an intimate, cozy date at a British-themed restaurant in town. Robert introduces Jimmy to weird British food, which Jimmy humors him by eating, because it's his birthday.

They walk hand-in-hand back to the motel, stopping to knock on Bonzo and Jonesy's door. Bonzo answers shirtless, but at least he's wearing pants, which is more than can be said for Jonesy, who's in bed with the blankets drawn up to his neck like he's an actress with a no-nudity clause in her contract.

"We're, uh, gonna go out for drinks," Jimmy says, averting his eyes from Bonzo's large, hairy chest. "You guys wanna come with?"

"Sure." Bonzo shuts the door, and Jimmy assumes he's just supposed to wait here, so he does. He turns to Robert, admiring the angles of his face under the harsh lamps.

"You really want them to come?"

"I wanna celebrate my birthday surrounded by all my friends," Robert says.

"You only have three friends?" Jimmy teases, squeezing Robert's hands in his own.

"I think it's a bit improbable to have all my mates from England here, yeah?"

"Do you actually keep in touch with them?"

"Not as much as I ought to," Robert says, sounding guilty. He brushes a thumb over the hills and valleys of Jimmy's knuckles. "There were a lot of good times, and a lot of bad. I haven't really sorted out how to feel about it all yet."

"Does England still feel like home to you, or..." Jimmy lets that sentence taper off. He doesn't know what he's asking. How could Robert call the United States his home when he's only lived here for seven months, one of those months spent traveling across the country? If anything, it's an extended vacation.

"Well, I've spent most of my life there, so it's got a bit of a head start in that regard, but..." Robert glances off. "I s'pose whenever I settle down and have a family, wherever I live will be my home."

"Hey, no fair, stealing my answer," Jimmy teases. "What happened to your boner for Wales?"

Robert does that crooked smile thing and looks away like he's embarrassed. "It's still there. But sometimes you've got to put aside a dream or two in favor of what's practical."

"That's not a very hippie-like viewpoint."

"Maybe not, but I've already found an extraordinary love." Jimmy actually glances around until it hits him that Robert's referring to him. "I survived quite a lot of misfortune..." Robert trails off and shrugs. "If I have to sacrifice my dream of living in a Hobbit village, well, 's'not too bad a compromise."

The motel door swings open, and Bonzo and Jonesy emerge, fully clothed. "Let's get shitfaced," Bonzo says. "For Robert."

The bar is more upscale and relaxed than the one they'd been in last night. Jonesy and Jimmy commandeer the pool table, while Bonzo challenges Robert to a drinking contest that can only end in humiliation. Robert's a good sport, though, throwing back as many drinks as he can before he hits his limit. Bonzo, a seasoned veteran of binge drinking, helps Robert stagger away to the men's room before he can vomit all over the bar.

"Is it weird that makes me want a drink?" Jimmy asks.

Jonesy sort of chuckles, twirling his pool cue in his hands. "Probably."

Jimmy abandons his cue and walks over to the bar for a whiskey shot. He swallows the liquid, lets it roll down his throat, and he thinks of Robert. Jimmy feels some as of yet undefined emotion brewing in his chest, and he buries it underneath another shot. The whiskey makes him deliciously boozy, but the voice that sounds at his ear still rips through him like a gunshot to the belly.

"Jimmy Page, what a surprise."

Even though it's been over ten years since they've seen each other, every memory comes flooding back fresh as though it were yesterday. Something in Jimmy's chest ripples and radiates outward, like an explosion.

Jimmy wets his suddenly-dry mouth and croaks, "Jeff?"

Jeff Beck looks pretty much as Jimmy remembers, the only change being the subtle signs of aging that have begun to appear on his face. Jeff slides onto the empty barstool beside Jimmy, a wry grin on his lips, and Jimmy thinks he sees genuine warmth there. "It's been a while."

"What are you doing here?" Jimmy asks, a little afraid of how confrontational that sounds. Why did Jeff have to show up here? Why did he have to barge into Jimmy's new life?

"I played a show at the Bitter End," Jeff says before ordering two drinks from the bartender. "I guess you weren't there."

Jimmy shakes his head. "I didn't know you were in town."

"I think the better question is, what are _you_ doing here?"

"I've been... traveling." Jimmy wishes he had a better answer, something to impress Jeff, something to show he's gotten his life together. But Jimmy's got nothing.

"What a coincidence we both end up here, huh?" Jeff takes a long swallow of his drink, edges the second glass over to Jimmy. Things are coming apart inside of Jimmy, tearing loose from their foundations, and all he can do is drink.

"Yeah..." Is it really a coincidence? What are the odds you run into your first love after twelve years without actively seeking them out? Jimmy remembers something Robert said: _Maybe the movie of your life is poorly edited, and your big moment hasn't happened yet. Fate is already written._

"How've you been?" Jeff asks. Again, another question Jimmy doesn't have a good answer for.

"Fine, I guess," Jimmy says, his voice unreliable and tipping a bit around the words. "You?"

"Pretty great, really." He moves closer and gives Jimmy a once-over. Fuck, he's wearing the same cologne he used to wear all those years ago. The familiar scent knocks Jimmy off his guard. "You look good."

Jimmy smiles despite himself. "You too."

Jeff considers him for a moment. "Y'know, I've still got something of yours, if you'd like to have it back. It's in my hotel room." He kicks back the last of his drink. "There's cheaper drinks, at least."

"You—you kept something of mine?"

"Yeah, one of your scarves. It's yours if you want it."

Just like Jimmy kept those Yardbirds records, Jeff kept something tying him to Jimmy. Has he been wrapping that scarf around his throat, inhaling the scent of Jimmy still embedded in the fabric? Jimmy clings to this tiny shred of hope and says, "Sure."

He's just going to get the scarf and leave. Jimmy's going to be responsible about this.

Jeff drops some money on the bar, and they leave together. Before Jimmy walks out the door, he casts a glance over his shoulder and sees Jonesy at the pool table. Jonesy gives him a look, his brow creased in worry.

If Jimmy's just going to get the scarf and chat with an old friend, why doesn't he tell Jonesy? He should let Jonesy know he'll be safe, clue him in to his whereabouts for when Robert and Bonzo get back... but he doesn't.

Jeff's staying at a hotel in SoHo. His room isn't so much a room as it is a guesthouse, with a lavish bedroom and a living room bigger than Jimmy's entire apartment back in Los Angeles. Jimmy feels like he's back in the world of glitz and glamour and endless orgies of sex and drugs.

"Wow," Jimmy feels compelled to say, trying his best not to gawk at the exquisite furnishings. That purple sofa in the living room probably costs more than all of Jimmy's possessions combined. He's drawn to the windows, and Jimmy stares at the skyscrapers and the city below, feeling like an outsider once again. "Are you staying long?"

"I've got one more show, then I'm going back to London for a bit."

Jimmy turns away from the window to look at Jeff. He still can't really believe that Jeff is in his life again, slightly weathered but fundamentally unchanged. This has to be a sign, right? There has to be a reason Jimmy's never been able to shake this profound longing for the love he lost. Maybe every choice he made brought him right here to this exact minute. His whole life, the break-up, the road trip, even his relationship with Robert, it's all been leading him right here to a second chance with his first love.

Jeff moves into the kitchenette and asks, "You want a drink?"

This sounds like a recipe for disaster, the point of no return, but Jimmy hears himself say yes, his feet carrying him over to the bar. It's just a drink. He's had plenty of drinks before. What's the big deal?

Jeff pours him a glass of something amber, and Jimmy drinks it down to calm his jittery nerves.

"So, what's been goin' on with you, Jim? Anything exciting? You still live in Pasadena?"

"No, I, uh, moved to LA about a year after—" He wants to say _after you left_ , but maybe dredging up the past isn't the best course of action here. Jeff seems like he wants to make amends and start anew. "So, that's where I've been."

"I guess you're a big Hollywood hotshot now, huh?"

Jimmy takes another drink. Like hell he's going to blow this and make himself sound exactly as uninteresting as he truly is. "I get invited to a lot of parties," he says, feigning pride. "I've met lots of celebrities." _You don't belong here_ , his inner voice screams at him, the way it used to during every Hollywood soiree.

"So I guess I can't impress you now that I'm rich and famous?" Jeff asks with a laugh, and Jimmy feels his breath hitch in his lungs. Jeff wants to impress him? Why?

"You can try," Jimmy says, a hint of flirtation in his voice.

"Well, Mr. Hollywood"—Jeff ducks out of sight and opens a cabinet—"does this remind you of home?" He drops a small plastic baggie of fine white powder onto the countertop.

Jimmy's heart seizes, because he knows immediately that's not powdered sugar or flour.

His mouth goes dry. "Oh," he croaks out, blinking a little too frequently. He's been clean almost a month now. In fact, since he's been with Robert he's barely given cocaine a second thought. Maybe one little bump won't hurt. After all, his withdrawal symptoms were mildly annoying at best, certainly nothing he couldn't live through again.

Jimmy needs to get high to silence the little voice in his head. Because that's what he's always done when he's walked into a party and felt like an interloper, someone who's out of step with the rest of the world. Jimmy just wants to feel good.

"Sure," Jimmy says, then Jeff's setting out a line for him, and Jimmy's leaning down and snorting the fine dust through his nostril, and the world's spinning a little faster now.

Jimmy gasps, seeing stars. His brain feels fuzzy, like the snow on a television set after broadcasting hours. It's a familiar, long lost feeling, and Jimmy wants to wrap himself in it, the spike of euphoria and dopamine setting his nerves ablaze.

Jeff snorts his line, wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "Now that's some good shit. You got anything like that back in Hollywood?"

"You kidding? This is nothing compared to what I'm used to." He's starting to feel it now, more powerful since he's gone cold turkey for so long.

"I never pegged you for a coke fiend," Jeff says with a leer of a smirk.

"People change. Shit happens."

"So how much have you changed?"

Jimmy's heart races from the cocaine and the weight of that question. Is it possible that Jeff wants him back? Could it really be that simple? "What do you mean?"

Jeff opens his mouth to say something but stops. Instead, he says, "About that scarf of yours..."

He leads Jimmy into a magnificent bedroom decorated in regal reds and purples. Jeff bends to dig through his suitcase, but Jimmy's barely paying attention, because what he sees propped against the wall takes his breath away as though he's been sucker-punched.

"You kept it..."

"Well, you left it at my place, and I just never got around to returning it," Jeff's saying, the scarf in hand.

Jimmy shakes his head, still gazing at the dragon Telecaster he painted long ago. "The guitar."

Jeff glances over his shoulder to follow Jimmy's gaze. "Oh, that. Why wouldn't I keep it? It looks and sounds great. I replaced the pickups a few years back, but it's the same as it was when you painted it."

His knees trembling, Jimmy drops onto the bed. "I can't believe it... You still play it?"

"Yeah, guitarists are funny that way. And, what the hell, I'm a sentimental bloke."

Jimmy blinks, his heart thumping against his ribcage. Jeff sits beside him and drapes the scarf around Jimmy's neck. In a gesture so tender Jimmy wonders if it's even real, Jeff tugs the ends of the scarf and pulls Jimmy's mouth to his own.

Jimmy's inner voice reminds him of all the reasons this is wrong, but it's drowned out by the thrum of his heartbeat and the roar of the ocean in his ears. Jeff's tongue licks over Jimmy's upper lip, slow and sensual, and Jimmy can almost feel the distance between them being sewn up, as though the twelve year gap never existed.

When Jeff breaks away, he's smirking a little. "You, uh, had some..." He brushes his thumb over his upper lip to signify a smattering of white powder on Jimmy's mouth.

"Oh..." Too stunned to do much else, Jimmy's face goes red.

"You still dig me, don't you?" Jeff's lifting his hand to Jimmy's cheek and stroking his thumb there, and Jimmy feels like he's back in Jeff's summer home, being touched and teased.

This is the part where Jimmy's supposed to protest, to say he's moved on and found someone else, but how the fuck is he supposed to reject the second chance he's been longing for? Jimmy doesn't answer that with words, just takes Jeff's face in his hands and captures his lips. He tastes the same as he did back then, still tilts his head in just the right way to lick open Jimmy's mouth, and suddenly Jimmy is twenty-one again and anything is possible.

All Jimmy can focus on is the taste of Jeff, the texture of Jeff's tongue swiping against his own. The cocaine has honed his focus in a tunnel-vision sort of way, and Jimmy spends a good deal of time rediscovering how it feels to kiss him. He's acutely aware of Jeff touching him, hands skimming along his sides and fingers spreading over the lattice of his ribs. Jeff tweaks one of Jimmy's nipples, and all he can feel are the whorls of his thumb grazing over the sensitive nub.

Jeff moves his kisses along the line of Jimmy's jaw, sucking at the juncture below his ear. Jimmy tips his head back and moans. Jeff mouths down the slope of Jimmy's neck, his teeth nipping and biting, his fingers scraping over Jimmy's chest. Jimmy hears himself swear aloud, and Jeff drops a hand to Jimmy's crotch, palming at his cock through his jeans.

"You used to get so hard for me," Jeff says, coaxing, and Jimmy flushes red, humiliated by his cock once again.

"It's-it's just the coke," he says, because that sounds like a decent excuse. "It does that."

Jeff doesn't argue with him, just peels off Jimmy's shirt and studies his physique. "You got a tattoo?"

Jimmy almost forgot about that entirely. "Oh yeah..." It reminds him of Robert, of his gorgeous, loving Sunflower, but here in Jeff's ritzy hotel room Robert and the outside world feel vague at best, like a distant memory.

Jeff pushes Jimmy onto the mattress and lavishes the tattoo with attention. His tongue drags, wet and slick, over the skin, his fingers pushing at the edges of Jimmy's jeans to expose more of him. Jimmy writhes on the duvet, needful and desperate. Jeff's tongue traces over the sinful dip of Jimmy's hipbone, then he's pushing Jimmy's jeans and underwear down, mouthing over the head of his half-hard cock.

Sense memory is a hell of a thing, and Jimmy instantly remembers the first time Jeff went down on him, the unforgettable suction of his mouth. Jeff's not much for technique, and Jimmy's still struggling to achieve an erection, his dick too blissed out to properly harden. "Remember this?" Jeff asks, the heat of his breath fogging over Jimmy's cock. "You always did love this. The sounds you used to make..."

Jimmy groans, lifting his hips into Jeff's mouth. He can feel he tease of an erection pooling low in his belly. It just needs a little coaxing. He opens his legs a bit wider, an invitation for Jeff to bring his balls into this, but Jeff misreads him entirely. "You finally gonna let me fuck you, Jim?"

Jimmy's not about to say no if that's what it takes to make Jeff want him again, but he's never had anything inside of him before, not even the tease of a finger. Jimmy doesn't say yes, but he doesn't say no either, just slides his legs over the duvet in a particularly suggestive way.

Jeff grins and says, "That's the spirit," before moving away from the bed. "Turn over." Jimmy obeys, lying flat on his stomach. He can hear Jeff searching for something, possibly lube or a condom or both. Jimmy hugs the nearest pillow and grinds his hips into the mattress for some friction. He decides to reach down there and just do it himself, grabbing his pathetic penis and trying to get himself hard. He can feel that it wants to; there's a boner in there somewhere, which fills him with a shred of hope.

He hears the plastic snap of a bottle cap, then Jeff's pressing a slick finger at his opening, and Jimmy yelps at the sudden intrusion. It feels too huge, and he's got no idea how he's supposed to take a dick up his ass when he can barely handle this. Jimmy rocks back into it, one hand wrapped around his cock.

"You look so fucking good like this," Jeff says, sliding his finger in and out. Jimmy groans, and Jeff takes that as permission to add another digit. He works Jimmy open with little patience or care, but Jimmy can feel his dick responding to the nudges at his prostate. "That's it, Jim, get hard for me."

It's such basic dirty talk, but the way he says it, like he means it... Jimmy whimpers a little, pre-cum starting to leak from the swollen head of his cock. "Shit, I gotta..." Jeff huffs out, then Jimmy hears the sound of a zipper and the wet noises of Jeff slicking up his cock. Then there's strong hands on his hips, and Jeff's pushing his way in. Jimmy grits his teeth and tries to let his body ease into the stretch, but it's too much. He lets Jeff slide in until he's balls-deep and Jimmy's shaking all over.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight," Jeff breathes out, his hips settling against Jimmy's ass. Jimmy wants to say something snarky, but he can't think over the sensation of being stuffed like this. He can feel the subtle twitch of Jeff's cock inside of him, the way the head slightly grazes his prostate, and he can't imagine what it will be like when Jeff actually starts fucking him.

Until Jeff does. It's hard and fast, and Jimmy hears choked little sounds being forced out of him with each thrust. "God, Jim," Jeff gasps, folded over him. "You know how long I've wanted this?"

Jimmy can't even answer, because every shove of Jeff's hips steals the air from his lungs. He can barely get enough oxygen to breathe. His hands dig into the pillow, his moans heightening each time Jeff shoves in and hits that spot inside of him that makes his hips involuntarily rut backward into the raucous thrusts.

Jimmy's dick, however, is thoroughly enjoying this savage fuck, because his erection has fought through the haze of cocaine and is now jutting proudly against his belly. Jeff's hands clutch tight around Jimmy's hips, and he's swearing through his teeth, and Jimmy knows what's coming next. "Jim, I'm gonna-gonna fill you up," he grunts, his breath hot on Jimmy's back.

Jeff grinds out a wrecked sound, and Jimmy can feel him let go, can feel the hot spurt of his orgasm, and Jeff's still pounding through the aftershocks, building Jimmy up until he breaks. Jimmy smothers his cry into the pillow, his cock erupting over his stomach and the duvet, his body crumbling under the force of his climax. He's panting through it all, his mouth watering and his muscles shaking like jelly. Jeff slumps over him, hips bucking weakly into him a few more times before shoving away.

Jimmy drops onto the wet spot, supernovas blasting behind his eyes. He feels stretched and sore all over, but especially in his ass, and all he can think of is how Robert would probably put his tongue there and eat him out, gently lapping at his hole, tender and sweet and gentle.

Fuck. Robert...

Jimmy's vaguely aware of Jeff leaving the bed, and he hears the flick of a cigarette lighter. "Worth the wait," Jeff says before taking a long drag.

Jimmy's still dazed from his orgasm and the cocaine, but his senses begin to piece together again, synapses clicking properly in his brain. He rolls over, onto his back, and sees Jeff sitting in a nearby chair, his dick tucked back into his jeans. Jimmy's lying here naked and cum-smeared in a hotel bed, and never before in his life has he felt this much regret after sex. He feels like a prostitute Jeff hired and fucked, and now it's the awkward part where they're supposed to get dressed and part ways.

Jimmy finds his clothes on the floor. He doesn't want to be here any more, not like this. Being naked feels obscene now. He stands up on shaky legs, semen and lube dripping down his inner thighs, and pulls on his underwear.

Jeff chuckles in his throat. "I guess I'm not the only one you've been seeing."

Jimmy doesn't know how Jeff could possibly know that, until Jeff points with his cigarette to the inside of Jimmy's bare thighs, which are covered in kiss and bite marks. _Robert..._

Jimmy does not much like himself right now. He drags his jeans on and covers the evidence of Robert.

"Bloke or bird?" Jeff asks.

"None of your business."

"So, a bloke, then..."

"Why's it matter? Are you jealous?"

Jeff shrugs. "Not really. He probably doesn't mean much if you jumped into bed with me."

"Fuck you," Jimmy snaps, Jeff's words poking at his guilty conscience. He shoves his arms through his shirt sleeves.

"You never used to be this bitchy after an orgasm."

"Things were different then."

"For one, I was never inside of you."

"Is that was this was? Just some sexual conquest? Jesus Christ, I thought you cared about me! But I guess _I'm_ the idiot for thinking you're even capable of that!"

Jeff makes a face. "Hey, Jim, slow down. I loved you a hell of a lot, but you took advantage of me. For somebody who wasn't ready to have sex, you sure were happy to let me get you off."

Jimmy's heart breaks in his chest. "Was that really all you wanted from me?"

"No, but c'mon, it adds up after a while. If you really weren't ready, fine, but you shouldn't have been so eager to take it from me. It's a two-way street, Jim."

"Well, I put out for you now! Doesn't that change anything?"

"It makes you a bit of a slut."

Jimmy sees red. He's shaking now, not from pleasure but from rage. "So that's it, then? Well, why don't we just go out and get dinner, 'cause I like to be wined and dined after I've _been fucked_!" He snatches the cigarette out of Jeff's hand. "Maybe a smoke too, huh? You wanna shove some dollar bills into my G-string if you're gonna treat me like a goddamn whore?"

"It's no fun being used, is it?" Jeff says, and the bitterness in his voice paralyzes Jimmy. He thought the reason Jeff approached him was because there were still feelings buried somewhere beneath the surface. He hadn't counted on the possibility that Jeff has no love left for him, that what they once had is now completely dead.

Jimmy wanted so badly to believe Jeff could love him again that he threw away a fantastic relationship with Robert. There are world-class fuckups, then there's Jimmy Page, who destroys his life with the ease of a bulldozer crashing through a razed forest.

"Fuck you!" Jimmy hurls the cigarette at Jeff. "You get me back into blow and then you fuck me, and it's all just a game to you?"

"You let twelve years go by without a phone call," Jeff says, with no trace of apology. "I figured you moved on."

"Well, you fuckin' figured wrong, dipshit! Why didn't you tell me what this was before we left the bar? Maybe then I wouldn't have ruined my _goddamn life_ thinking you actually gave a shit about me! You got me high and then you used me. You're an asshole!"

"You could've said no. It's not my job to take care of you, Page," Jeff says, and Jimmy feels the gunshot again, tearing through muscle and sinew. Because who's taken care of him for almost a month now? Who's made sure Jimmy eats and tended to him after his alcoholic binges? Who's been reassuring him that life will unfold into something worthwhile? Robert has. Robert has been loyal and gentle and unwavering in his love, and Jimmy pissed it all away.

_You're going to end up alone because you never saw the value of what was in front of you until it was too late._

Robert. Oh God...

"You want me to drop you off somewhere?" Jeff asks, watching Jimmy grab his scarf off the bed and storm out.

"Eat a dick," Jimmy growls, realizing too late that doesn't really work as an insult. "Eat a _forest_ of dicks! I am so fucking done with you!"

He steals the whiskey bottle from the kitchenette, because fuck you, Jeff. He takes a long drink from the bottle while he waits on the elevator. Christ, what the fuck is he going to tell Robert? And how is he going to get back to the hotel? He doesn't even know where he is.

He's not telling Robert about the sex. After all the shit Robert's gone through in life, Jimmy doesn't think he'll be able to handle this. He'll tell him about the cocaine, that he went off to snort a couple lines. And it will be the truth, albeit a lie of omission, and Robert will be upset but he'll understand, and they'll get past this. He doesn't need to know about the affair.

Jimmy steps into the elevator, and tears sting his eyes. He wants today to have never happened, for everything to be the way it's supposed to be.

Jimmy manages to navigate his way through the convoluted subway system and get back to The Village. He stumbles up the stairs of the motel, drunk and still a bit high. He nearly trips over one of the steps, rights himself on the railing with his free hand. He digs the key out of his pocket and fights with the lock for a good thirty seconds. The door swings open, and Robert's standing there, looking at him as though Jimmy's a returning prodigal son.

"Pagey! Where've you been? Jonesy told me you'd gone off somewhere! Are you alright? You're so pale!" Robert ushers him inside, and Jimmy breaks under his kindness. Robert is so good and honest and sweet. He deserves so much better than Jimmy could ever give. Jimmy has to tell the truth.

"I fucked up," Jimmy sobs. "I fucked up so bad."

"It's okay, it's okay." Robert takes the whiskey bottle and sets it on the night table, sits Jimmy down on the bed. "Have you been hurt?"

Jimmy can't manage anything more than another sob. He buries his head in his hands, his fingers raking through his hair like he's going to pull the strands out.

"Who hurt you? I won't let them get away with it; Bonzo's got a mean right hook, y'know."

"Me. It was me. Oh God, I fucked everything up. I'm so sorry." Jimmy barely gets the words out through the way the sobs wrack his lungs.

Robert rubs Jimmy's back and hugs him close. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it, okay? Did you—did you go off for a hit of cocaine?"

Jimmy nods, his fingers tightening in his hair. God, why didn't he just say no?

Robert sighs, disappointed, but holds him tighter. "Pagey, it's all right. It's been a while for you, hasn't it? Are you still feeling it?"

Another nod. Jimmy's whimpering curses into Robert's chest, staining his shirt with salt water.

"Honestly, I'm a little relieved. When Jonesy told me you'd disappeared with a stranger, I was worried. You could've been seriously hurt or..."

Jimmy swallows back the lump in his throat. "It wasn't a stranger... It was Jeff."

Robert freezes, as though realizing the enormity of what he's just heard. Jimmy can't look at his face, can't see the look of horror there as he pieces things together, but the agony he hears in Robert's voice tears through him like a serrated blade: "Pagey, you didn't... Please tell me you didn't—"

"I'm so sorry..." Jimmy cries, not knowing what else to say. "I fucked up. I just—"

"Did you sleep with him?"

Jimmy doesn't answer, just sobs hysterically, but that's enough to convict him.

"You cheated on my birthday?" Robert asks, incredulous, and Jimmy can hear the pain there.

"I'm so sorry—"

Robert shoves him away and stands up, towering over Jimmy's whimpering form. "It's bad enough you had to go off for your little nose candy, but to sleep with some bloody bastard who broke your heart, and do it all on the one day a year that's supposed to be for me? You are the most self-absorbed, selfish fucking arsehole I've ever met in my life! You're even—you're worse than my father! Because at least he had a reason to hurt me! What was your reason? Did you just wake up today and think, 'oh, I think I'll destroy a fantastic relationship because that's what I do! I'm Jimmy Page, and I ruin every good thing life hands me!'"

Jimmy shrinks under Robert's fury, deserving it all but wanting none of it.

Robert drags a hand through his hair. "Life isn't like a movie! Jeff leaving you wasn't the buildup to the inevitable ending where years later he realizes what he gave up and you reunite and fall in love again. Sometimes a breakup is the end, and there isn't going to be a third act where it all turns out right."

Jimmy's shoulders tremble with the force of his sobs. Robert is entirely correct, and listening to this is Jimmy's punishment for spending the night with Jeff.

"I hope he was worth it," Robert says, his ire gone as quickly as it appeared. He doesn't sound angry anymore, just tired and resigned. Jimmy feels lightheaded and short of breath. "You were the best thing in my life, Pagey. How could you do this?"

"Please, Robert, just—just tell me what to do," Jimmy begs. "Just tell me how to fix this, baby, please. Whatever it is, I'll do it."

"You've done quite enough." Robert moves for the door.

"Wait, no, no, no, don't leave. Please, I don't want—"

Robert slams the door when he leaves, and only then does the full impact of losing him finally hit Jimmy. He shakes, his mind racing. Robert can't leave. Not after all they've done together, not after how good they are. Jimmy realizes that now, and what a shame that it took something like this for him to finally see it. It can't be too late. It can't.

He waits in terrifying desolation for Robert to return, his sobs subsiding into quiet hiccups. He wipes his face with his hands and smears tears over his cheeks. Robert will come back. He won't just leave. He'll have to at least come back for his luggage, and then Jimmy can beg and plead and make bargains, anything to get him to stay.

Maybe he'll turn the others against Jimmy, and they'll abandon him here with nothing but memories. He'd rather die. Don't show him paradise and then burn it down.

The door opens, and it's not Robert who comes barging in but Bonzo. Bonzo's a steam train full of anger, and Jimmy's in his way. Bonzo barrels into Jimmy before he can get his bearings. "You worthless cunt!" he roars as they crash to the floor.

Bonzo's on top of him almost immediately, and Jimmy manages to choke out "No!" before Bonzo bashes his fist into Jimmy's jaw. Robert and Jonesy are shouting at him to stop, but Bonzo ignores them, furiously pummeling away at Jimmy. Jimmy tastes the metallic sting of blood, hears Jonesy and Robert's panicked cries as they attempt to pry this beast of a man off Jimmy. "After all Robert's done for you, you go off and cheat on him on his fucking birthday?" Bonzo shouts, and Jimmy can smell the alcohol on his breath.

Bonzo's got the bottle of Jack Daniel's clutched in his fist, wielding it like a club, and everything seems to be happening in slow motion except for the frantic thump of Jimmy's heartbeat in his ears. As the bottle swings toward Jimmy's face, he knows it will be a devastating blow. The kind of blow that leads to surgery and months of pain meds. The look in Bonzo's eyes tells Jimmy he is absolutely capable of and willing to bludgeon him to death, that he might even enjoy it.

Death by Jack Daniel's. A fitting end, Jimmy thinks, though not exactly how he imagined he'd die with alcohol involved.

Then, suddenly, Bonzo is pulled off of him, the bottle skidding across the carpet. Robert's lying underneath Bonzo, restraining him in a full nelson. Jonesy's standing near them like he might have had a part in the tussle.

"You could've killed him!" Robert cries.

"You're a heartless dick," Bonzo spits at Jimmy. "Robert deserves better than a shithead alcoholic coke fiend."

Jimmy lies there, dazed and tasting blood, trying to catch his breath. Jonesy kneels at his side and examines his injuries. "You really clobbered him," Jonesy says, looking at Bonzo.

"He deserved it!"

"He's still our friend, even if he doesn't make the best decisions," Jonesy says with a hint of malice in Jimmy's direction. He touches the sore spot on Jimmy's jaw with a bit too much pressure, and Jimmy flinches away.

"Don't hurt him anymore, okay?" Robert pleads. He slowly lets go of Bonzo, who staggers to his feet.

"I don't get you," Bonzo says, turning to face him, and Robert sort of jumps like he's afraid he's earned Bonzo's wrath. "This jackass fucks some other guy and snorts coke with him on your birthday, and you're just gonna let him get away with it? Christ, Robert, open your fuckin' eyes! He doesn't give a shit about you!"

"That's not—Of course he does," Robert protests. "He's just a bloody idiot sometimes."

Bonzo shakes his head, huffs a bitter laugh. "'Deep down he loves me,' huh?"

Robert bridles at the implications there. "Hey, it's not like that! And I didn't ask you to storm in here and start beating on him!"

"'Cause you're a pussy. You got your peace and love flower-child bullshit, but I don't sit around and turn the other cheek when someone fucks me over."

Robert sighs and kneels at Jimmy's side, caressing his battered face with so much love and tenderness it hurts more than the punches. "You should leave," he says to Bonzo and Jonesy.

"He's just gonna keep takin' advantage of you," Bonzo argues. "People like him don't change, Robert."

Jonesy cuts in, placing his hands on Bonzo's chest as though holding him at bay. "Hey, c'mon, don't do this," he says, and Jimmy thinks he hears Jonesy's voice waver a bit. "Robert can handle this however he wants, and we'll support him, okay? Let's leave them alone." Jonesy glances over his shoulder and says to Robert, "You're welcome to stay with us if you want."

Robert shakes his head. "I've got to look after Pagey."

Even when Jimmy's wronged him deeply, Robert still loves him. _You really fucked this one up, Page._

Jonesy and Bonzo leave, the adrenaline in the room dissipating like smoke in their wake. Robert helps get Jimmy settled in to bed, takes off his shoes and jeans and tucks him under the covers. He creates a makeshift ice pack out of a washcloth and some ice from the machine outside. Jimmy flinches at the chill as Robert places the pack on his bruised face. He's withdrawn somewhere inside of himself, a cold shell of numbness wrapped around him like a cocoon. Robert gazes at him with melancholic eyes, tenderly pushing the hair off of Jimmy's face. "Oh Pagey... How did things get so screwed up?"

"Because you didn't know me. Then you fell in love with me, and now you know me," Jimmy says, his voice wrecked.

"This isn't who you are."

"Take off the rose-colored glasses sometime, Sunflower. Maybe you'll see those red flags for what they really are."

Robert shakes his head, like he's trying to shake away the truth. "No, no, no, you were high and drunk and you couldn't have made a proper decision like that."

Jimmy's judgement wasn't impaired—at least by any substance—when he left the bar with Jeff. But he needs Robert here with him, so he says, "I love you, Robert. I really do. I always have. It wasn't—it wasn't good with Jeff. He wasn't you. He just used me."

"I hope you're not expecting me to feel sorry for you."

Jimmy pauses because, yeah, he kind of was.

"Why don't we try an' sort this out in the morning?" Robert asks, rising to his feet and sliding into bed beside Jimmy.

Jimmy thinks Robert says good night to him, but he can't hear over the sounds of his own sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I warned you, didn't I? Was it every bit as horrible as you feared? Don't worry, there's more fucked-up shit to come in future chapters, as well as more exploration into Bonzo and Jonesy. But for now, let's just enjoy the awful clusterfuck of Jimmy's bad decisions.


	19. Lessons

Jimmy wakes in the morning feeling like a group of elves are trying to burrow their way out of his skull using tiny pick axes. His mouth is desiccated, the sun hatefully spitting daylight into his eyes through the cracks in his lids. Every muscle aches, and his ass feels like he's been fisted by the Hulk.

Robert is gone, and Jimmy panics that he's been abandoned until he sees Robert's bag and assorted items strewn over the floor. Apparently the morning after an alcohol and drug binge, Jimmy's more of an idiot than usual.

He staggers into the bathroom to clean himself up. A hot shower washes away the filth and grime of last night, though he can't scrub out the feeling of Jeff coming inside of him. Robert should have been the first to do that, Jimmy thinks under the scalding needles of water. Robert would have been gentle with him and made sure Jimmy was ready before easing his way inside. He would have kissed him during sex and afterwards, would have made him feel loved and needed instead of fucked and used.

Jimmy realizes Robert's never going to touch him again, and he sinks to the bottom of the shower.

When the water runs cold, he gets out and brushes his teeth, doesn't bother shaving due to the hideous dark bruises on his face. Why does he keep getting hit, he wonders, as though the answer isn't obvious.

After pulling on some clean clothes, he ascertains that Robert is next door, because his bags are here and the van's still parked outside. Since becoming acquainted with Bonzo's fists, Jimmy really doesn't want to go over there and tempt fate by searching for Robert. He's pretty certain everyone hates him now.

About thirty minutes pass before the door opens. Robert comes inside, looking achingly desirable in a tight t-shirt and painted-on jeans. He shuts the door and sits in the chair near the bed, as though unwilling to be too close to Jimmy. Jimmy prays a silent prayer that Robert isn't leaving him here, though it certainly would be justifiable. He wants to pull Robert close and just melt into him, until the madness recedes and they can be themselves again.

Robert looks at him, as though trying to figure out where Jimmy fits in this new reality. "Pack your things," he says, his voice indicating that there will be no deviating from whatever he's got planned. "We're leaving."

Jimmy swallows, his throat still dry.

"We think it's best if you aren't in this sort of environment anymore. Jonesy suggested we all go to a nice, relaxing bed and breakfast in the Hamptons where you won't be around the temptation of drugs."

Jimmy's heart feels like it might burst free from his chest. "Is 'bed and breakfast' a euphemism for rehab clinic?"

"That was Bonzo's idea. But Jonesy's professional opinion is we should try this first. I think you would've been able to say no to the coke if it'd been anyone else offering it to you." Robert pushes his hair out of his face. "But because it was Jeff, you never had a chance."

Jimmy stares at the carpet, struggling for words. "He didn't say anything about drugs until we got to his hotel room. I only left with him 'cause he said he had an old scarf of mine he wanted to give back."

Robert smiles sadly. "I thought it must've been something like that."

"So I betray your trust and break your heart, and you take me on a relaxing weekend getaway?" Did Jimmy wake up in an alternate universe?

"It needed to happen this way," Robert says. "You still loved Jeff, and when he left he never gave you the closure you needed to move on. You thought it was your fault, so when you saw him again you thought you could fix whatever you did that made him leave in the first place. Now you know the truth, and you can move on, and we can get past this." Robert takes in Jimmy's incredulous expression. "We  _will_  get past this, because we love each other."

"How can you still love me?" Jimmy's almost offended that Robert isn't screaming at him and lighting his clothes on fire in the parking lot.

"Because you made a mistake, Pagey. You were drunk and high and desperate to rekindle the flame of a first love. I know how powerful that can be. I'm not sure how I'd handle myself in the same situation." That's a pretty huge admission on Robert's part, that he isn't blindly saying he wouldn't have second thoughts.

"I don't... I don't deserve this. You should hate me, not take me on a fucking vacation."

"You're hurting right now. You need love and understanding."

Jimmy shakes his head, his fingers burrowing into his hair. "Fuck, this isn't... Why are you so..."

Robert moves over to where Jimmy's sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. "It's still in your system, isn't it? You said it takes up to three days, yeah? Why don't we just give this a try and see if you don't feel better after a week or so?"

"We don't have that kind of money."

"Jonesy's taking care of it. Don't worry about that. Now, c'mon, I'll help you pack."

They gather Jimmy's things and fill his suitcase. Jimmy doesn't understand this at all. He feels like he's getting off too easily when there should be hell to pay for what he's done. Robert should say "fuck you, asshole," and steal his van and his money and leave him here to rot. But Robert's just not that kind of person, and maybe Jimmy's always known that.

They load up the van, and Jonesy takes the wheel. One of his relatives had a home in the Hamptons where he used to visit, so he knows his way around. Bonzo sits shotgun while Robert's in the back with Jimmy. Jimmy shies away from him, curled into a ball of misery and self-loathing. He's tired, a unique type of exhaustion that comes from failure on top of failure. Futility and fuckups take a lot out of you—maybe that's why Jimmy's been in a constant state of bone-deep exhaustion for most of his life.

The ride takes a few hours, and Jimmy remains numb for most of it. That doesn't stop Robert from attempting to make conversation with him.

At some point, the van rolls to a stop in front of a gas station, and Bonzo moves to get out. "I gotta take a Jimmy." He glares over the back seat. "That's my new word for 'shit.'" Bonzo slams the door as he leaves, and Jimmy slumps impossibly further.

Jonesy huffs a frustrated sigh.

"Don't listen to him, Pagey," Robert coos, brushing his fingers through Jimmy's messy hair. "He's just being an arse."

Jimmy eventually dozes off, and when they arrive at the bed and breakfast Robert's shaking him awake and saying, "Pagey, we're here!"

The building is a gorgeous, majestic English manor located on a sprawling green that stretches out for what seems like miles. Robert and the others unload the van and head inside, while Jimmy numbly carries a suitcase or two.

Their rooms are next door to each other on the second floor. Robert and Jimmy's room is elegantly decorated in cream colors and pale green patterned wallpaper. It's not very large, but it's intimate and cozy with the feel of a charming country bedroom. Outside the window is a breathtaking view of the botanic garden and the pool behind the building.

"So what do you think?" Robert asks, sliding an arm around Jimmy's waist.

"It's nice," Jimmy says, sounding like he could not possibly give less of a shit.

"This'll be good for us," Robert's saying as he unloads his luggage. "You'll see. And 'bed and breakfast' means there's a breakfast!"

There's a small bouquet in a vase on the bureau, and Jimmy feels a profound sadness when he sees a sunflower among the other colorful flora. He plucks it from the bunch and approaches Robert, who's unpacking armfuls of clothes from his bag.

Jimmy wordlessly offers him the flower. Robert grins in a way that ought to make cartoon birds land on both of their shoulders. He sticks the stem into the front of his jeans, and Jimmy feels the twitch of a smile on his lips.

"See? You're already feeling better!"

Jimmy doesn't want to argue with him, so he says nothing.

Robert makes himself at home, putting his clothes in the dresser drawers and his toiletries in the quaint little tiled bathroom. Jimmy drops into a small armchair near the window and melts into the seat. He doesn't deserve to be here with a loving boyfriend who doesn't seem to mind that Jimmy snorted cocaine and let another man rail him. Why can't Robert just be angry with him?

If he could, Jimmy would take the van and drive, but he doesn't dare leave the others stranded. But the urge to get out of here is so powerful, like an itch under his skin.

While Robert's futzing about in the bathroom—"Pagey, they've got robes!"—Jimmy quietly slips out.

He doesn't know where he's going, just that he needs to get the hell out before he suffocates on Robert's optimism and goodwill. Jimmy takes the staircase to the first floor and pushes open the doors to the garden.

The greenery fills him with a tranquil calmness. Jimmy strides out along the paved walkway, through the towering hedges and garden walls covered in ivy and wisteria. In the distance is a rectangular-shaped pool, and Jimmy finds himself drawn there like he's being pulled by an invisible string.

He sits by the pool and watches the soothing trickle of the water into the basin. A sparrow flutters to the edge and splashes in the water. Jimmy watches the bird for a while, wondering what its life must be like. Animals may have to worry about being devoured by predators, but that seems like a decent trade-off for not being concerned about bills or drugs or jobs or any of the bullshit humans deal with on a day to day basis.

Jimmy wonders if he's destined to hurt Robert, like he's been cursed to constantly disappoint everyone he loves. He let his parents down by being an aimless, self-destructive fuck-up. He let Jeff down through a lack of communication. And now poor, sweet Robert has suffered by Jimmy's hand, too.

He remembers an old adage he read on a fortune cookie somewhere: a man who tries to catch two rabbits will lose them both.

But he also remembers how he handled things the last time he fucked up beyond measure, and the idea of trying again is oddly comforting. Just knowing that he has the option, an escape hatch for a life that's been thorougly ruined by his own machinations.

Jimmy's vaguely aware of the space around him being disrupted as someone sits beside him. "Just don't," he grumbles, so not in the fucking mood.

"I'd like to apologize on behalf of my behemoth boyfriend," Jonesy says. "And something tells me you need someone to talk to who isn't Robert."

"I don't want to talk."

"You'd rather sit here and mope? That won't solve anything."

"There's nothing to solve. Sometimes you fuck things up and all you can do is suck it up and accept responsibility."

"Robert doesn't seem think so."

"'Cause he's a fuckin' hippie who thinks the world runs on sunshine and smiles."

Jonesy chuckles. "Well, you're the one who hurt him. Don't you think he's the most qualified person to forgive you?"

Jimmy sighs and rakes his hands through his hair.

Jonesy says, "You wanna tell me what happened?"

"I thought Robert told you."

"Two sides to every story."

Jimmy stares out at the garden. "Why don't you tell me what you know, and I'll fill in the blanks?"

"Well, I saw you leave the bar with that guy. You seemed comfortable with him. Robert says he's your first boyfriend?"

Jimmy nods. "Yeah. Jeff. The first person I ever loved."

"So how'd he get you to leave? Did he offer you cocaine?"

"No, he said he had a scarf of mine he wanted to give back to me."

"Did he really? Or was that a ruse?"

"He did. He also had the guitar I painted for him." Jimmy fills him in on the Telecaster story.

"So when you got to his hotel, he offered you the coke?"

Jimmy hugs himself like he's cold. "I just wanted to feel like I wasn't out of place. He had this fancy hotel room and I always felt a little undeserving of him anyway, and I couldn't stop the little voice in my head telling me I wasn't good enough to be there. The coke always silenced it. If I said no, I wasn't sure if he'd still want me. I thought we had a second chance if I just played my cards right."

Jonesy fixes him with a curious, sympathetic look. "Then what happened?"

"He took me into the bedroom and showed me the scarf. That's where I saw the guitar, and then he kissed me. And things just... developed from there."

"What made you leave?"

"I felt like a whore he'd hired, like I'd been fucked and used. I just thought of how Robert would've treated me afterwards, and I hated myself."

"Did he say anything?"

"I asked him if he still loved me. He basically said this was just a way to get back at me for allegedly using him back when we were dating."

Jonesy sighs. "Have you talked to Robert about this at all?"

"It won't change anything. I still cheated on him and broke my sobriety. He should hate me, but he won't fucking do it."

"Because he loves you. And I think he understands you weren't exactly in the best mindset."

"On his birthday!" Jimmy sort of shouts, startling a nearby bird.

"Robert won't hate you. He's not built that way. You've been together long enough that he knows this was just a disastrously bad decision."

"He told me Bonzo wants me in rehab."

Jonesy smiles in a pained sort of way. "Bonzo's got some strong opinions about you, but I don't think your problem is an addiction to cocaine. There's this Canadian study where they took two different samples of lab rats. Both groups had two water bottles available—one filled with water, and the other filled with water that's laced with heroin or cocaine. One group had this awesome rat paradise cage with great food and toys and other rats to play with, and the other group was put in individual cages with nothing but the water bottles. All the rats tried both bottles just to see what was in them. But the rats with a good, happy enviroment didn't want the drugged water. The other rats, the ones kept alone and unhappy, became heavy users."

"Because their lives were shitty? Y'know, Robert said something once about how only unhappy people do hard drugs."

Jonesy shrugs his shoulders. "I don't think I disagree with that. Actually, about twenty percent of US soldiers over in Vietnam were addicted to heroin there. But almost all of those addicted soldiers stopped their drug use when they came back home. They didn't need the drug anymore because their 'cage' wasn't awful."

Jimmy thinks back to his own cages, how he'd been unhappy and miserable in LA, how he'd felt so, so much better driving down the interstate with Robert by his side.

Jonesy continues, "Even better is the addicted rats from the bad cage were later placed in the good cage, and they were able to have normal lives with only a few twitches of withdrawal. So it's not so much a chemical hook that causes addiction, 'cause you can get addicted to gambling or hoarding or eating or chronic masturbation, none of which have any chemicals involved."

"Except dopamine," Jimmy points out, trying to sound smart.

"And you're right, the brain probably does get addicted to that dopamine rush, and if it's not getting that anywhere else, yeah, you're gonna have a rough time. An addict bonds with their drug of choice because they can't bond with anything or anyone else."

Which bolsters Jimmy's theory that Robert served as his own personal dopamine dispenser. As he fell for Robert, Jimmy's brain lit up with dopamine, and he didn't even think about coke anymore. Not until he felt like he'd lost Robert, until Jimmy got into that room with Jeff and felt like an outsider again, and the echoes of unhappiness crept over him like a shadow.

"So that's why Robert's on this hippie-dippie, hold hands and sing Kumbaya bullshit," Jimmy says, gesturing to their surroundings.

Jonesy nods. "Pushing you away would be the worst thing for you. That's why he won't hate you or be cruel to you no matter how much you ask him to."

"But I cheated on him," Jimmy reminds him, because he thinks that's a pretty important point. "I wouldn't give a shit if he was treating me like this 'cause of the coke, but how can he just ignore that I betrayed him and slept with someone else?"

"Well, it was probably a perfect storm of emotions. You were unhappy, which made you give into the drugs, and then Jeff himself provided you with a lot of dopamine rushes: keeping your mementos, kissing you, then the sex."

Jimmy sighs, squeezes his eyes shut like he's trying to block out the memory.

"Not many people get a second chance like this," Jonesy says. "If Robert's willing to extend an olive branch, you should probably take it."

Jimmy watches the water and wonders if it could really be that easy.

* * *

Jimmy makes his way back to the room after some time passes. Robert is happy to see him, as always. "There you are! Did you and Jonesy have a nice talk?"

Jimmy frowns. "You orchestrated that, didn't you?"

"No, I saw you out the window," Robert says, pointing to the glass. "I recognized your broody shoulders."

Jimmy mouths, "broody shoulders?" and shakes his head. He kicks off his sneakers and sits on the couch. "If I wanted to talk or unburden myself or whatever you new age hippie weirdos call it, would you want to listen?"

"Of course!" Robert sits beside him. "You can tell me anything, Pagey."

So Jimmy does. He tells Robert everything he told Jonesy and then some. He doesn't stop until he's confessed everything about that awful night, until he's shaking and sobbing and apologizing through his raspy breaths. Robert holds him close and reassures him that he's still loved, that these transgressions haven't changed the fundamentals of Robert's love for him.

"I'm not going to hate you, Pagey," Robert says. "That's not who I am. And this isn't who you are either, and that's why I can't feel hate for you. Because I know this was just a tragic, awful mistake you made when you were scared and high and lonely. But you're not always those things, and ninety percent of the time you're a lovely, wonderful man, and that's who I fell in love with." He rubs Jimmy's back as the sobs begin anew.

"I don't deserve it. I don't deserve your forgiveness."

"Well, tough shit. I say you bloody well deserve it. You wanna fight about it?"

"I probably deserve a good punch or two," Jimmy says.

"Your beautiful face has suffered enough." Robert thumbs carefully over Jimmy's bruised jaw. Jimmy flinches underneath the tenderness of it. "Does it really hurt that much?"

Jimmy shuts his eyes and turns his head away from Robert's touch.

"Bonzo..." Robert grumbles. "He shouldn't have hit you like that. You know I never asked him to do that, don't you?"

"I know."

"I just went out to get some air, and I suppose they heard you come in and me go out and wanted to see what happened. I said you went off to snort coke and cheat on me, and Bonzo just lost it."

"It's not your fault. And I deserved it either way."

Robert huffs. "Okay, how about this? I reserve the right to sleep with someone else once and only once, thereby making us even."

Jimmy's brow creases in confusion. "You're serious?"

"You cheat on me, I cheat on you. We're even."

"What about the cocaine?"

"I really don't think that's what you're upset about."

Point taken. Jimmy shakes his head, trying to make sense of this. "This might be the craziest fucking thing you've ever said. I mean, how are you going to prove that you did it? Take pictures? Film it?"

"You could watch."

Jimmy's mouth just sort of drops open. "But—you didn't get to watch me! This is, like, thirty different kinds of fucked up."

"How is it any different than watching porn?"

"Because in porn, none of the people involved are my boyfriend!"

"Alright, you come up with something, then," Robert says, sitting back against the couch. "Something that's gonna make you stop moping and thinking you don't deserve me."

Jimmy probably shouldn't be shooting down Robert's ideas when he hasn't got anything better.

Robert watches him curiously. "What's the matter?"

"This is fucking crazy! Normal people don't do this! They walk the fuck out when their partner cheats on them! They don't offer to fuck someone else so they're even!"

"There are extenuating circumstances here. Usually cheaters like to have their cake and eat it, too."

Jimmy considers it for a moment. "Alright, fuck, if you think it'll help."

Robert slaps his palms on his thighs and stands up. "C'mon, let's get this over with!"

Jimmy grabs for his sneakers, but Robert says, "You won't need 'em!" as he leaves the room. Jimmy follows him next door with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Robert knocks on the door, and Bonzo opens it. "Room service! Did you order a stud?" Robert boasts, his hands on his hips in a particularly flamboyant way.

Bonzo laughs and lets them inside. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Robert giggles, laying a hand on Bonzo's chest. "Don't act like you never said you'd give me a proper shag if I asked."

"I think I saw a porno like this," Jonesy says, eyebrows raised.

Jimmy gasps, but there's no air. Jonesy's okay with this? What kind of weird-ass cult has Jimmy found himself in the middle of? He's gone for a few hours and suddenly everyone's down for having orgies with each other.

Bonzo looks a little flustered. He glances at Jonesy, as though asking for permission. "You want in on this?"

"Three's a crowd," Jonesy says. He moves toward Jimmy, says, "Let's give them their privacy," and that's when Jimmy knows this is all bullshit.

"I'm staying. I want to watch."

Jonesy leaves, and Jimmy gives Robert a leer of a smile.  _That's right, I'm calling your bluff. You won't fucking do it._

"Ooh, Pagey, I didn't know you were into voyeurism." Robert edges Bonzo to the bed, where they fall and start pawing at each other. Bonzo's sucking on Robert's neck, his sausage-like fingers pushing under Robert's shirt. Robert lets out a moan, and Jimmy feels sick.

Robert grinds on top of Bonzo, hands braced on Bonzo's chest just like he'd done when he rode Jimmy. Jimmy sits in the chair beside the bed, his arms crossed furiously over his chest. He knows they're going to reach a point where one of them will puss out, and he wants to be here to call them on it.

Bonzo pulls Robert's shirt over his head and brings him close so he can mouth over Robert's nipples. Robert gasps a high-pitched noise and tosses his head back. He's rutting against him, and Jimmy can see how hard Robert is through his jeans. Bonzo does too, apparently, and runs a hand over the bulge there.

"Inside," Robert says in a near whisper.

"You're really into this, aren't you?" Bonzo says, laughing nervously and glancing at Jimmy, like he can't believe this shit is happening either. Jimmy decides Bonzo will be the first to crack.

"Don't look at him, look at me," Robert orders, and Bonzo drags his gaze back to Robert. His hips rock up, making Robert groan. Tentative, like he's waiting for Robert to stop this madness, Bonzo unbuckles Robert's belt and pushes a hand into the front of his jeans. Robert makes an obscene sound and bucks into the touch.

Any moment now they're going to stop. Robert can pretend he's into this, but it's all a charade orchestrated to make Jimmy uncomfortable.

"No,  _inside_ ," Robert says as Bonzo strokes him.

Bonzo chokes out, "Jesus fuckin' Christ. I gotta tell ya, I've thought about this a lot, but Page was never in the room for it."

"Just pretend he ain't here," Robert says just as Jimmy inhales a loud, deep breath.

Bonzo hesitates, so Robert helps move this along by standing up and stripping off his jeans. He's wearing nothing but his underwear now. He helps Bonzo get undressed by tugging his jeans down his legs.

Bonzo reaches into the drawer of the night table and takes out a bottle of lube. Jimmy swears his heart stops for an brief, terrifying second. Robert straddles Bonzo's hips, then Bonzo's getting his fingers wet and pushing a hand down the back of Robert's briefs.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on there, because Robert's making noises Jimmy's only ever heard when he's had his dick inside of him, and Bonzo's staring at the way Robert's cock strains against the material of his underwear. His other hand curls in the waistband of Robert's briefs and tugs, exposing the swollen head of his dick.

"Shit," Bonzo huffs out, and Jimmy stares at the pearly white leaking from the tip. As if reading Jimmy's mind, Bonzo swipes a thumb at the head and gathers the pre-cum there. He lifts that thumb to his mouth, and how much longer is Jimmy going to let this go on? Until one of them fucking comes? Clearly Jimmy was horribly wrong. This isn't for show.

Bonzo pushes his fingers in deeper, and Robert whines, then Jimmy's leaping out of his seat and yelling, " _Stopstopstopstop_! Fuck, Robert, you win, okay? We're even, just stop it!"

Bonzo and Robert freeze, and Bonzo's hands fall away from Robert. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm fucking sure!" Jimmy grabs Robert's arm and pulls him off of the bed. "Put your clothes back on."

"We're good now?" Robert asks, wiggling his hips a bit as he fits himself into his jeans. "You're not going to mope anymore?"

"I will literally do anything to prevent  _that_  from happening again."

"Robert, what the fuck am I supposed to do about this?" Bonzo asks, gesturing to his own erection.

"We'll fetch Jonesy for you," Robert says before linking an arm through Jimmy's own and leaving the room.

Upon exiting the room, they find Jonesy standing out in the hall, gazing over the balcony at the ornate main floor below. "Bonzo's ready to go if you are." Robert gives Jonesy a wink and steers Jimmy back to their own room.

Once they're inside, Jimmy asks, "What the fuck? You seriously let him touch you like that?"

"If we faked it you'd be able to tell," Robert says, kicking off his sandals. "But I'm sure you would have stopped us before it went too far."

"What a risky little game!" Jimmy cannot believe he just witnessed any of that. "Fucking hell..."

"You're not upset, are you?" Robert asks, laying a gentle hand over Jimmy's bruised cheek. "I only picked Bonzo because he's a mate and he expressed interest in me. He's the closest thing I've got to what Jeff meant to you. If I'd gone up to some random stranger and stuck my hand down his trousers, you'd know there was no emotional tether. That's why it had to be someone I care about, someone you'd be afraid I might fall for. But you don't—you don't honestly think I'd rather be with Bonzo than you?"

"You're mine now," Jimmy says, pushing Robert onto the bed and kneeling at his feet. He gets Robert's dick out of his jeans and swallows him down, making sure his lips suckle around the hilt and the tip nudges against the back of his throat. He hums around him, sucking him lavishly and noisily. His tongue drags over Robert's balls, teasing the sensitive spot below his sac, and Robert shoots down his throat with a shout. Jimmy gags, sputters, and Robert pulls him up to kiss his cum-smeared lips.

They fall onto the bed, kissing and groping like teenagers, but when Jimmy's hands find Robert's ass he pauses, because just minutes ago someone else's fingers had been in that ass, and it's fucking Jimmy up spectacularly. His mouth stops moving in time with Robert's own, and he just sort of zones out until Robert's saying, "What's wrong?"

Jimmy can't help but wonder: "Would you really have let him fuck you?"

"I thought we were even." The expression on Jimmy's face makes Robert add, "Guess not. I s'pose I really made a mess of this one."

"Just—just answer, please."

"If you didn't stop us... I guess I would've."

"You guess?"

"But only because that was part of our deal—you fuck someone else, I fuck someone else, then we're even. In theory, it sounds like a plan. But y'know what they say about plans."

"What?"

"'Man plans, God laughs.'"

Jimmy smiles humorlessly. "We must be a fucking riot."

* * *

Jimmy can't get to sleep. Robert's zonked out beside him, so Jimmy takes care in rolling out of bed so he doesn't wake him. He slips out of the room and goes exploring. The inn is only two floors high, but what it lacks in height it makes up for in expanse. He takes the staircase to the ground floor, curiously wandering about. There are a few well-dressed guests milling about in the lobby and the living room, and Jimmy thinks he probably shouldn't have worn pajamas down here.

Inside the spacious living room are couches and armchairs and a fireplace and even a piano. There's someone sitting in the window nook, and it's only when Jimmy moves closer that he recognizes the hulking figure is Bonzo.

Bonzo must hear Jimmy's footsteps creak on the hardwood floor, or maybe he hears the aborted gasp Jimmy makes in his throat, because he's turning his head and saying, "Jim."

Considering all the crazy shit Bonzo's subjected him to in the last twenty-four hours, Jimmy's fairly sure he doesn't want to be near him much longer. "I—I was just lookin' around. I'll leave."

"No, don't. C'mon. Is this 'cause of what I did to your face?"

"That might have something to do with it." Jimmy feels the hot pulse of blood thrumming under his bruised skin.

Bonzo huffs a humorless laugh and pats the padded nook, like he wants Jimmy to join him. Hell to the no. "C'mon, Princess, I'm not gonna clock ya again."

"There are witnesses," Jimmy says, taking tentative steps closer. "And if you start shit, you  _will_  get us kicked out, and Robert will never forgive you."

"I ain't gonna do any of that. Just come here."

Jimmy's a glutton for punishment, so he sits across from Bonzo in the window, leaning against a throw pillow. Outside the window are the garden hedges cloaked in darkness, leaves shimmering in the moonlight. Jimmy draws his knees to his chest and hugs his legs.

"My dad was the meanest sumbitch I ever knew," Bonzo says quietly with absolutely no preamble. "He was a chronic skirt-chaser, and he'd come home drunk and knock my mother around. I was too young to stop him, but I swore I'd never grow up to be like that."

If Jimmy had a week alone in a room with nothing to do but think, he still doubts he could come up with a response to that that wouldn't get him punched in the face. So he says nothing and just lets Bonzo keep going.

"My mom was a lot like Robert. Naïve, too trusting, the sweetest thing you'd ever wanna meet."

"Well, I guess that makes what you two did earlier just a bit weird."

Bonzo tries a smile, and they fall silent for a moment.

Jimmy decides to cut through the pretense. "Are you trying to apologize for punching me? Is that what's happening here?"

"If that's how you wanna look at it. I went a little too far."

"Yeah, just a little," Jimmy grumbles, touching his fingers to his aching face. "So why can't you sleep? You feel bad about what you did to my pretty face?"

"Among other things," Bonzo says, and, boy, is that sentence a loaded gun. He leaves that one hanging for a while, then he says, "Y'know Jonesy's afraid of me now?"

Jimmy thinks he's heard wrong. "What?"

"After I hit you, Jonesy's been lookin' at me differently. Like the way my mother used to look at my father. And I don't—I don't wanna be that guy. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise Pat and I couldn't have kids, if that's who I'm gonna turn into."

Seriously, why the hell does everyone dump their problems on Jimmy? He's not a goddamn therapist, and he's really not great with advice, considering the fantastic mess he's made of his own life. "Well, you hate me. You probably wouldn't hate your own kids."

"I don't  _hate_  you, you just piss me off sometimes. You've got somethin' great in front of you, but you're willing to piss it away, just like my dad did. And you get to blame your bullshit on some substance, which he did, too, so it's like you get a free pass to be a shithead, because 'it's not me, it's the drugs.'"

"I'm through with the coke," Jimmy says.

Bonzo scoffs. "That's what they all say."

"Jonesy seems to think I'll be alright. And he's a  _medical professional_."

Bonzo frowns as though he doesn't have a decent answer for that. "You sure know how to step in shit and come out smellin' like roses."

"I didn't ask Robert to do all this," Jimmy argues, because he thinks that's an important point. "I didn't ask Jonesy to take us here. You're the only one acting sensible about this, but you had your fingers in my boyfriend's ass, so I'm kinda hating you right now."

"You aren't even mad about the punching?"

"I don't care what happens to me," Jimmy says with a shrug. "But Robert... He deserves so much better."

"He'll stay, though," Bonzo says with an air of assurance, gazing out the window. "So don't fuck this up."

"I'll try my best."

When Jimmy gets back to his room, he slips into bed alongside Robert and just watches him for a moment. Love flutters in his chest, and he's tempted to reach over and brush the hair out of Robert's face. But he doesn't dare touch him.

"Robert, I'm not—I'm not mad at you, alright?" Jimmy murmurs. "I was a piece of shit, and you had every right to get back at me. If I hurt you even half as much as you hurt me, I don't—I don't wanna be the kind of person who does that. I love you more than anything, but maybe you'd be better if I wasn't around, y'know... Is it too late for me? I know I'm selfish and fucked up and self-destructive, but you saw someone worth loving. That has to mean something, right? Please, Robert, tell me it's not too late... I need to know I'm a good person."

The only reply is the quiet, soft sound of Robert's snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, another cliffhanger.


	20. Time Has Come Today

In the morning, Jimmy wakes up on the bathroom floor and thinks,  _I'm alive._  At some point last night, he dragged himself in here to wash down a generous handful of aspirin with the half-finished bottle of Jack. The last things he remembers are vomiting profusely into the toilet, and the fact that Robert was in bed a few feet away and would be the one to find his lifeless body in the morning. Panic seized him, and as he passed out on the cold tile he had lost the urge to kill himself.

Now here he is, alive and awake, and he hears knocking on the door and Robert's impatient whine: "Pagey, are you gonna be very long?"

Shit. Robert can never know about this. It was bad enough last time when his parents found him and carted him off to a hospital for three days and spent the next twelve years watching for warning signs. Like hell he's going to let Robert do the same.

And if Robert ever learns what Jimmy did here, he'll assume his little stunt last night with Bonzo was the cause, and, Christ, Jimmy can't even handle the thought of Robert shouldering the blame for this. One stupid mistake shouldn't ruin everything.

"Just a minute," Jimmy calls, the words scraping his throat. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, and the room starts to spin. With shaking hands, he discards the whiskey bottle into the trash bin, destroys all the congealed evidence of his failed suicide attempt, and turns on the shower.

He hears Robert's loud sigh of exasperation through the door. Jimmy strips off his clothes in a pile on the floor and steps underneath the spray of water. Swiping the curtain closed, he says, "I can't believe you're gonna piss in here while I'm taking a shower."

The door swings open, and Robert's voice is loud and clear. "Well, you're not giving me any other options."

Jimmy slumps against the tile wall and sinks to the bottom of the tub, focusing on the steaming assault of the spray. He rakes his hands through his damp hair, his body shaking with panic. Christ, he tried to kill himself last night. It's not his first dalliance with the concept, but he's never gotten used to the morning after, the odd emotional war between feeling like a world-class failure and overwhelming relief that he didn't succeed. What the fuck was he thinking? Hasn't Robert been through enough shit already?

"I'm going downstairs in a tic for breakfast," Robert says. "Are you coming?"

It takes Jimmy a moment to answer. "Uh, yeah, I'll meet up with you later."

There's a worried pause, then: "I guess we're not doing 'phrasing' anymore," Robert murmurs, although Jimmy can hear him over the shower spray.

The water temperature drops when the toilet flushes, but Jimmy doesn't even care. Robert partakes in his usual morning routine while Jimmy just sits in the shower basin and lets the water pound his skin. Robert's uncharacteristically quiet, like he thinks Jimmy's upset with him, which couldn't be further from the truth. He doesn't make any flirtatious offers to step in and join Jimmy, just says, "Well, I s'pose I'll be going. See you when I see you, Pagey," and shuts the door behind him.

Climbing out of a rut happens by way of a bunch of small, sharp kicks. But like a true cokehead, impervious to pain, Jimmy let the kicks pile up. Once the drug wore off, though, the pain was there waiting for him.

Which is why this morning the accumulated kicks crash into Jimmy like a wrecking ball. It finally hits him that for all his belief that his problems are never his fault, the mess he's made of his life is entirely on him.

He thinks back to his breakup with Jeff, about how if he'd just been honest and said he wasn't sexually attracted to him things might have turned out differently, how in an attempt not to sound like an asshole his silence made him an even bigger douchebag. He'd been very content to take sexual gratification from Jeff but never reciprocate, not once considering Jeff might have felt led on and used because Jimmy wasn't honest about his feelings. So when Jeff broke up with him, Jimmy took comfort in writing him off as an asshole. Because it couldn't be his own fault.

 _Kick_.

And then, when Jeff reappeared in Jimmy's life, Jimmy opened the Pandora's box of first love instead of shutting the door on a relationship twelve years past its expiration date. He relapsed and betrayed Robert in a fleeting spasm of peer pressure and longing, empty and aching for something that probably never existed to begin with. So Jeff enacted his revenge, making Jimmy feel just as used and led on, and Jimmy couldn't even see it until it was too late.

_Kick._

And now here he is with nothing: no beautiful wife. No two-point-five kids. No satisfying, fulfilling career. Nothing to point to a life being lived with any success. His relationship with Robert is tattered and fractured, the dizzying possibility hanging over Jimmy's head of Robert leaving him for Bonzo.

_Kick. Kick. Kick._

To accumulate so many glaring mistakes in thirty-three years of life seems indicative of an inherent defect of the soul. Jimmy is too old to continue down this path of pathological irresponsibility with any hopes that he'll create a meaningful, worthwhile life. So, sitting in the shower of an East Hamptons bed and breakfast, Jimmy realizes he has no choice: change or die unhappy and miserable. He needed this atomic bomb of fuck-ups to burn him to the ground and force him to start over.

So Jimmy does.

He finishes his shower, shaves, brushes his teeth, conceals the bruises spread across his face, and throws on a change of clothes. With renewed purpose, he heads downstairs. The breakfast room is lively and aglow with the August morning sun, and Robert, Jonesy, and Bonzo have already settled in, appropriating two of the small, round tables for their formidable feasts. Robert sees Jimmy enter the room, and his expression immediately brightens. "Pagey!" he calls through a mouthful of food. "You came!"

Jimmy sits in the empty chair across from Robert and says, "Phrasing, Sunflower."

Robert looks curiously at Jimmy. "You shaved, too." Mr. Observant.

"You like it?" Jimmy wonders, suddenly self-conscious. He feels like he's had permanent stubble for the whole trip.

"I always like how you look."

Bonzo gags and mutters, "Jesus Christ."

Jonesy flicks a grape at his grumpy boyfriend. "Will you stop?" he chides with love.

"Why don't we move so Bonzo's not disgusted?" Jimmy suggests, because he's got something important to talk to Robert about, and Robert won't be able to hear him if Bonzo's making annoyed groaning noises.

Robert and Jimmy scoot their table back to its proper place, and now they have some semblance of privacy for their conversations. Jimmy goes to the breakfast bar and builds himself a plate of delicious foodstuffs: a pile of various toasted breads, a scoop of scrambled eggs, a couple hash brown egg nest things, muffins (English and blueberry) and apple fritters. Near the edge of each table is a wooden rack of condiments, and after he sits down Jimmy takes his time dressing the toast slices in dijon mustard and honey and butter and cream cheese.

"Good to see you've got your appetite back," Robert says.

Though yesterday is slowly becoming a hazy memory, Jimmy doubts he ate anything. His body's probably starved for any form of sustenance, especially after puking up the contents of his stomach last night.

Jimmy nods, sets his knife on his plate. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking... Why don't we just start over? No more trying to make things even or making up for anything. Just wipe the slate clean and start from scratch, like we just met each other."

"You mean I'm s'posed to forget what you look like naked?" Robert says, sounding despaired.

Jimmy feels his face go hot. "If it's any consolation, you won't have to forget for long," he mutters, but Robert must hear that because he goes red, too.

"Well, then, I'm Robert. I'm a Leo. I dig good food, good music, smoking pot, and frisky men."

"Jimmy. Capricorn. In school I was frequently noted as being unable to keep my hands to myself." He wiggles his eyebrows for effect. "Also, I cut class a lot so I could go up on the roof and smoke."

Robert smothers a giggle with his hand. "Aren't you just the man of my dreams?"

"I don't know. What kind've dreams you been having?"

Robert laughs like he genuinely finds Jimmy hilarious, which never fails to make Jimmy smile. "Nothing suitable to tell someone I just met."

"Ah, playin' hard to get, huh? That's good, I like a challenge." Jimmy leans in. "Where you from, Robert?"

"England."

"No shit, I would never have guessed. Where in England?"

"Kidderminster. It's a little outside of Birmingham. It's a bit of an industrial town, y'know, factories and such."

"So, you work with your hands?" Jimmy says, curling flirtation around every word.

Robert's cheeks flush pink. "Well, sort of. I used to be a cook for a spell. I've done a lot of things, but I've been thinking about getting back into cooking again."

"Yeah? That's great."

"Actually, I'm done thinking about it. I've already decided," Robert says with an air of pride, tossing his hair over his shoulder.

Jimmy glances at Robert's heaping plate of breakfast meats. "Well, you do love food."

Robert grins. "What about you, Jimmy? What do you love?"

Jimmy's gut instinct is to say "you," but that might not go over too well considering the circumstances. "Music. Art. Film. The natural beauty of the world."

"You should go to Wales sometime. It's gorgeous."

"As gorgeous as you?"

Jimmy gets a perverse pleasure out of making Robert blush. "Mm, not sure how to answer that one."

"Well, answer this instead: you wanna have dinner with me tonight?"

"Of course!" Robert says, a bit too enthusiastically, but Jimmy finds it endearing. "What room are you staying in?"

He's really taking this clean slate thing seriously. "I'm sure we'll run into each other again," Jimmy says with a lilt of an eyebrow.

After breakfast, Jimmy takes his sketchbook to the living room window nook and, for the first time in years, attempts to draw something. The early afternoon sun warms him and leaks through the windows, and the lazy hum of conversation exists around him. Jimmy falls easily into the gliding strokes of the pencil on paper, and relearns his technique by sketching what's in front of him. After a few practice sheets, something worthwhile and unique begins to take shape. He brings the image to life with careful attention to detail, and it fills Jimmy with a deep longing in his chest.

By the time he's finished needlessly nitpicking and erasing and redrawing, the sun's beginning to set over the garden. It's probably bad form to be late for your first date with someone, so Jimmy hurries back to his room, unlocks the door, and finds Robert there lying on the bed reading The Fellowship of the Ring. Robert looks up from the book, feigning surprise.

"I told you we'd see each other again," Jimmy says.

Robert watches Jimmy casually hide the sketchbook in his bag. "You're an artist?" He climbs over the bed for a better look. "What'd you draw? I wanna see."

"I'll show you later," Jimmy promises. "Where're Jonesy and Bonzo?"

"Who?"

Jimmy sighs. "Work with me here, Robert."

"Oh, well, they're next door doing you-know-what, then Jonesy said somethin' about going to dinner." Robert makes a pouty face. "I hope he wasn't assuming we'd join them."

"He'll get over it," Jimmy says with a shrug. He digs through his suitcase for a shirt with buttons, thinking he ought to look presentable, and ducks into the bathroom to freshen up. When he's done, Robert's already exchanged his ratty t-shirt for the red and black tunic, and fuck if Jimmy doesn't find him ridiculously attractive, even though the stupid thing covers Robert's ass, which ought to be a crime.

"We're not going anyplace fancy are we?" Robert asks, comparing his own attire to Jimmy's moderately professional collared-shirt-and-dark-jeans ensemble.

"Nah, you look—really good." The words tumble out of Jimmy's mouth before he can decide if they're too forward for a first date. But he's been flirting pretty hard with Robert anyway, so whatever.

Robert looks pleased by the compliment, like he hasn't lived a life of constant fawning over his appearance. Maybe he hasn't. It's hard for Jimmy to imagine Robert wasn't always beautiful, so he's refusing to believe it until provided with solid evidence.

They find an Italian restaurant a few minutes away from the inn, and they spend the evening drinking overpriced drinks and devouring impossible-to-pronounce dishes. All the while, their conversations grow more and more intimate, and both of them seem to know which subjects to avoid, residual memories from their previous incarnation as a couple. But Jimmy never feels nervous around Robert, the way he should if this truly is a first date. He worries about that, wonders if they're doomed to have this black cloud hanging over them, the elephant in the room that goes unaddressed for eternity.

But maybe, with the right person, things just need time to percolate on their own. Maybe you don't need to talk things out through messy, exhausting discussions. Robert seems to be accepting this as a fresh start, borrowing what he needs from their past lives and discarding what he doesn't. If Jimmy doesn't want to be driven mad, maybe he should do the same.

Over dessert, they trade embarrassing stories. "Once, when I was working as a dancer, I'd bought some weed brownies from a mate, and I didn't know how bloody strong they were! So I ended up eating, like, three, and I danced my entire set with my eyes closed. Like, I couldn't physically keep them open. The pot didn't affect my memory or anything. I could perform perfectly well. I just couldn't open my eyes." Robert laughs. "I made a lot of money that night, though. Maybe they thought I was blind."

Jimmy chuckles, intoxicated by the booze and the way Robert makes him feel. "Shit, that's hard to top. I guess the best I got is the time I was with this really beautiful woman, but I couldn't get an erection. I was totally into it, but my dick wasn't. She tried lots of things, but it just laid there like a sad, deflated balloon."

Robert does a thing with his mouth where he looks like he's trying not to laugh at Jimmy's pathetic tale of erectile dysfunction. "Oh Lord... Well, you won't have any trouble with me, will ya?"

"You think I'm easy, huh? That I'll sleep with you on the first date? What kind of guy do you think I am?"

Robert opens his mouth, closes it.

"And how could you tell so fast?" Jimmy says with a wink.

After dinner, they retreat to the inn, holding hands as they walk up the staircase and to the room. Once they're inside, Jimmy pulls the sketchbook out of his bag. "As promised, I wanna show you the drawing I did." Robert leaps onto the bed, eager to see what Jimmy's created. Jimmy sits beside him and opens the sketchbook to the proper page.

The drawing is of a two-story Victorian-style home surrounded by a picket fence, shrouded in ivy and shrubbery. Flowers bloom in thatches on the ground, and there's a stone walkway leading up to the front porch. With its sprawling front yard, it looks as though it could exist in a vineyard or the English countryside.

"That's beautiful," Robert gasps. "Where is it?"

"It could be anywhere, really. I just tried to imagine what kind of house I'd want if I had a family to share it with."

"You could share it with me," Robert says, as though he has zero concept of how that might sound on a first date.

"Wow, you move fast, don't you?" Jimmy laughs.

Robert flushes pink again and rubs the back of his neck. "'M sorry, I just—I can't just start over and pretend like we never shared the things we shared, y'know? We were so good together—we still are—and I just... I want us to go back to the way we were before all this bloody confusion. I want you to call me Sunflower and I wanna call you Pagey, and I wanna say things that aren't appropriate first-date talk. And I don't wanna drive myself mad wondering if it's okay to kiss you."

Jimmy sets the sketchbook on the night table and pulls Robert's mouth to his own. He tastes just as Jimmy remembers, and the familiar sensory overload comforts him enough to let his hand play along the length of Robert's thigh. Robert pushes into it, his tongue licking its way into Jimmy's mouth. Jimmy goes for the gold and eases his hand to where Robert's hard and ready for him.

"So I can kiss you, then?" Robert wonders around his lips.

"You can do whatever you want, Sunflower."

Robert makes love to Jimmy for the first time that night, and it's just as Jimmy thought it would be: tender, gentle, and a hell of an orgasm. Robert uses his fingers first, making sure Jimmy's prepared and wide open for him, then he fits his way inside. Jimmy shakes, because Robert's balls-deep, and it doesn't feel anything like it did with Jeff.

"Is it too much?" Robert asks, Jimmy's legs wrapped around his waist. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"It's fine," Jimmy huffs out, because he still doesn't know how to deal with that oddly full feeling except to push his hips into it. Robert likes that, so they begin to move together, slow and steady. Robert's moaning and covering Jimmy's mouth with kisses as he works into him, and Jimmy's just trying to remember how to breathe.

Jimmy drags his fingers down Robert's back, which Robert seems to be totally into. He shivers when Robert murmurs encouragements at his ear, his breath hot and lurid. He's tempted to reach down and jerk himself off, but he knows Robert will get him there, because his cock is bumping into Jimmy's prostate with each thrust, and it takes Jimmy's breath away every time.

"Oh shit oh fuck," Jimmy gasps, desire and need welling in his groin. His back arches, tilting his pelvis so Robert can fuck into him at a better angle. His head drops against the pillow, his hands digging into the base of Robert's spine. "I'm coming..."

Robert keeps moving, his hips languid and smooth as he rocks Jimmy to a slow, achingly good orgasm. Jimmy feels the world shift, his body succumbing to pure pleasure as though he's being taken apart atom by atom. He hears himself groan, then Robert's following him into bliss and digging his teeth into the slope of Jimmy's shoulder. Robert comes, and it's wet and warm and perfect. Jimmy drops to the mattress, entirely spent.

Robert breathes at his throat, his softening cock rutting against the inside of Jimmy's thigh. Jimmy's dripping cum and lube onto the sheets, and he doesn't even care. He's vaguely aware of the gooey mess on his belly. He wants to congratulate Robert on a job well done, but he thinks words might be superfluous here.

Robert sighs Jimmy's name over his skin, then he's crawling down Jimmy's body and hooking those slim legs over his shoulders as he goes down on him, just like Jimmy knew he would. Jimmy chokes on a noise in his throat as Robert licks and laps at his hole. "You're so sensitive here," Robert says, and Jimmy feels every word of it. He squirms, and Robert grins against his ass. Jimmy wraps his fingers in Robert's curls, his body shaking until Robert finishes.

"I love you," Jimmy hears himself say, and he's frightened by how honest he is here, as though a proper ass-fucking has broken through the dam of his emotions. "I don't know what the fuck I was thinking." He cards a hand through Robert's hair while Robert kisses over the marks he's made on Jimmy's thighs, the same marks Jeff had seen. "I'm so sorry."

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about." Robert's lapping at Jimmy's sticky belly now, hungry for the taste of him and entirely unaware of how narrowly he avoided finding Jimmy dead.

Or maybe Robert's really fucking committed to this whole charade they've been putting on today.

Either way, Jimmy tangles his fingers with Robert's own and says, "Thank you."

Robert smiles tenderly at him, crawling up Jimmy's body and resting his head on his rising chest. "You'll always have me, Pagey."

* * *

The four of them spend the next day in much the same way, but when the 24th rolls around, Jimmy makes certain they do something together as a group.

Jimmy and Robert have only been dating for under a month, but it feels longer somehow. Jimmy thinks this might be his chance to make up, in some way, for the cataclysmic disaster that was Robert's birthday. So, that evening, he drags the three of them to dinner at a Chinese restaurant not too far from the inn.

"You guys know what today is?" Jimmy asks.

"Wednesday?" Robert says with his mouth full.

"Well, you're not wrong, but I was looking for something a little more personally significant." Obviously, Bonzo and Jonesy aren't going to guess the answer, so Jimmy adds, "Today marks the one-month anniversary of the start of our little journey. We've been on the road for an entire month now," he says, looking at Robert. "Can you believe it?"

"'S a long time."

"That's fantastic, you guys," Jonesy says, snagging a sushi roll with his chopsticks.

Bonzo grunts a noise Jimmy thinks is supposed to be supportive and takes a long swallow of beer.

"I'm not sure how my life would've turned out if I hadn't taken this trip, but I'm glad I did."

"Pagey, are you thinking about heading back?"

"Like hell. There's still plenty more I wanna see. Is that cool with you guys?"

"I'm with you," Jonesy says. "Anything to prolong my vacation." He laughs an airy sound. "I feel too young to be a finished product, y'know? I mean, what's that leave for the rest of my life?"

"That's where Bonzo comes in, yeah?" Robert suggests with a wink. Bonzo tries a smile, but it's frayed around the edges, and Jimmy wonders if that little, uh, exhibition the other night fractured Bonzo and Jonesy's relationship, too. Or maybe Bonzo's still stressing over his genetic predisposition to act like his father.

"Eh, Jonesy'll probably win a Nobel prize or somethin'," Bonzo says. "Or keep gettin' Ph.Ds."

Even in the dim light of the restaurant, it's easy to see Jonesy's cheeks flush red against his pale skin. "You're embarrassing me," he mumbles, not unkindly.

"You're easily embarrassed," Bonzo points out before stealing a dumpling off his plate.

Jimmy leans back in his seat and looks at Robert. "Doesn't feel like it's been a month."

"In a good way or bad?"

"Well, both. You've made time seem to fly by, but it feels like I blinked and lost an entire month."

"It's only because you're enjoying yourself," Robert says. "Once you get home and things get boring again, you'll wish the clock went that fast."

Jimmy's cynical side wants to argue that he doesn't have a home to go back to, but his new optimistic side thinks home is wherever Robert is.

Jonesy's voice is timid and clear. "Uh, Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"I hope this doesn't ruin any plans you've made, but we're supposed to leave the bed and breakfast tomorrow morning."

"That's fine. Gives us an excuse to keep driving. Where should we go next? Any votes?"

"I hear Boston's nice."

"The city or the group?"

"Either?" Jonesy says with a shrug.

Bonzo and Robert don't seem to have any particularly strong opinions, so Jimmy says, "Alright, Boston it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if you think it's smooth sailing now that Jimbert are getting their shit together, well, maybe it's Bonsy's turn to have some shit go down)


	21. The Weight

Jimmy's tolerance for driving long distances is beginning to wane. After almost five hours of driving, Jimmy says "fuck it," and they stop in Providence for lunch. The hellish wick of summer is beginning to give way to autumn, so they spend some time walking around downtown and looking in the various eclectic shops. Providence is composed of Federal and Victorian-style architecture and a shitload of greenery. The sky is a bright azure color, and the cozy feel of the city pricks at Jimmy's urge to settle down and make a life somewhere.

They're driving through a residential neighborhood in College Hill when Jimmy spots an "Open House" sign. Curious, he follows the arrows and locates the address. The house is nestled on a long avenue lined by magnificent trees on each side of the street. Every house here is impressive in an affordable way—nothing unachievable like the mansions in Los Angeles or the Hamptons. It's entirely conceivable that Jimmy could live here.

"Why are we stopping?" Bonzo complains as Jimmy slows to a stop in front of the house. It's a wide, two-story Victorian-style home in soothing two-toned cream and sea green. The front porch wraps around the building, giving it a country charm. There are inviting flower pots blooming beautifully on the front steps and along the length of the porch, and a white picket fence lines the perimeter of the property.

"It's an open house. We should take a look around," Jimmy says.

"'S a lovely house, Pagey, but it's a bit out of our price range, don't you think?"

"Are you guys looking for a house?" Jonesy asks. "Is that what's happening here?"

"I just wanna look," Jimmy says, feeling oddly singled out. "What, a guy can't look at a house for sale without everybody makin' a big deal out of it?"

"I s'pose there's no harm," Robert says. "But it seems rude to waste the salesperson's time if we've got no intentions of buying it."

Jimmy rolls his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause they're _so_ busy." He shuts off the engine and opens the door. "Let's go."

A tall, slim blonde meets them at the door. "Hi, I'm Patricia Ecker, the realtor. Are you here for the open house?"

Jimmy puts on his best charming smile. "We are."

"Great! Come in, come in!"

The inside of the house is just as breath-taking as the exterior. An elegant staircase sits beyond the foyer, with alabaster ceiling lights and antique sconces.

"Are the four of you interested in the house?" Patricia asks.

Jimmy says, "Yeah, we are," without really thinking. He can't imagine parting ways with Bonzo and Jonesy. But this is purely fantasy, so he's not too worried about the logistics here.

"Well, the house is about three thousand square feet with four bedrooms and three bathrooms, so you'll have plenty of room to yourselves, if that's what you're looking for. The house was originally built in 1869, but the new owners have completely renovated it with all new plumbing and electric." She leads them into the grand, open living room, which is split into two different areas. One side has a cream-colored area rug atop the hardwood floor, a seafoam green loveseat, and small white armchairs. The other side has a white L-shaped couch with colorful throw pillows, another area rug, two carved mahogany mirrors flanking the fireplace, and a quaint, white coffee table. Playfully-patterned drapes tie the room together, along with the wood dressers and vibrant green plants.

"It's beautiful," Robert gasps.

Bonzo glances around. "How come there's no one else here? Isn't this an open house?"

"Well, it is kinda late," Jonesy says, as though apologizing for Bonzo's bluntness.

Jimmy was kind of wondering that, too, but he figures the house has been on the market for a while. Which means the owners might be susceptible to a bit of haggling.

They move into the octagonal-shaped dining room, which is decorated in antique pink-and-white flower wallpaper. A bronze chandelier hangs over the round dining table, and a basket of flowers and another mirror sit on the fireplace mantel.

"Another fireplace?" Jimmy says. "Does it get that cold here?"

"Are you from out of town?" Patricia asks.

"California," Jimmy and Robert say in unison, while Jonesy and Bonzo answer with "Ohio" and "Alabama" respectively.

Patricia smiles. "Wow, you're from all over, aren't you? Well, it tends to get pretty cold here in the winter months—averaging about 20-35 degrees from November through March."

"It'll be nice to have some cold weather again, huh?" Jimmy says to Robert, like he's trying to make a point.

The dining room leads into the kitchen, which is painted in a tranquil sea blue color. The fixtures and cabinets are all white with dark soapstone countertops. The kitchen itself is bright and airy with plenty of room to move about and lots of natural light. There's an antique workspace table for preparing food, and a bar off to the side to accommodate extra seating. Small, bulbous light fixtures hang from the ceiling, bathing the room in ambient light.

"That little hallway there was originally a laundry room," Patricia explains, motioning to the space where the dining room leads into the kitchen. "But the new owners remodeled it into a sort of butler's pantry."

Robert gapes at the spacious kitchen, perhaps imagining himself working in it.

Patricia continues, "And there used to be a wall here separating the kitchen from the sitting room, but that got torn down to make things less cramped and more open."

The sitting room carries over the soft blue paint from the kitchen and gives the room an ocean theme with French doors leading out to the backyard, blue and brown accents throughout the room. Along the far wall, cherry wood built-ins flank yet another fireplace.

Robert's drawn to the windows so he can gaze out at the backyard. There's nothing really spectacular out there, but the lawn is neatly kept, and Jimmy likes how the property is nestled within a nook of trees, sort of giving enough privacy from prying eyes while not being too tucked away.

All of the bedrooms are on the second floor, so that's where they head next. The first bedroom Patricia shows them is the master. "So," she starts, "you can kinda see how the mansard roofline tilts here." Jimmy looks up and, holy shit, that's really bizarre. The walls are slanted inward ever so slightly, making him feel high just looking at them. But the bedroom itself is quaint and charming, with a pastel bluish-green color on the walls and crisp white trim. There's another damn fireplace, hardwood floors, a flower-patterned area rug, two large chests, a dresser, and a bed.

"What's with all the furniture?" Bonzo asks. "Is that the owner's?"

"It's pre-furnished," Patricia says. "Sometimes it helps to get a feel for how the place'll look with furniture."

Jimmy wonders if the owners tacked on a couple extra thousand dollars from the furniture costs.

Inside the bedroom is a shared closet, which continues the slanted wall aesthetic and makes the room a lot tighter than it looks. Jimmy and Robert try to navigate through the crowded closet. "You don't have a lot of clothes, do you?" Jimmy asks him, sort of bumping his hip on the built-in, diagonal marble-top cabinet.

Robert looks around at all the closet space and shrugs. "Do you?"

The master bathroom is a gorgeous study in marble and glass. The room is decorated in soft green-patterned wallpaper and pastel valances hanging from the windows. There's a claw-foot bathtub and a spacious, sliding glass door shower. Tilted mirrors address the slanted wall problem, and the countertops and floor are all sleek marble.

At the end of the hallway is a cozy, comfortable spot for reading or relaxing. There's a massive vintage bookcase along the wall, and an armchair and an ottoman near the window. Another area rug covers the hardwood floor.

"This was dead space that they renovated to be a library or workspace, but of course you can change that to suit your needs," Patricia says.

"Pagey, you could use this as a painting area," Robert suggests, and Jimmy feels the distant worry he's not going to be able to leave this house without buying it. Each room is mind-blowingly intricate and gorgeous, and it's perfect for all four of them. Even if Jonesy and Bonzo don't want to live with them, Robert and Jimmy could definitely live here. Jimmy can fucking _see_ it, and that's just making his impulse-to-buy itch worse.

They head into the second bedroom. It's just about the same as the master bedroom, albeit a bit smaller and lacking the clusterfuck of a closet the other bedroom has, just simple sliding doors. The third bedroom follows the same schematics. The fourth, however, has an interesting surprise.

"These beds came with the house," Patricia explains, as Jimmy and the others look at two twin maple four-post beds placed on either side of the window.

"Huh. Neat." Jimmy can't really see a need for twin beds—maybe for a guest room, or, someday, a kids' room?

Maybe.

He glances at Robert for a split-second, but it's long enough that he can almost sense that Robert's thinking the same thing, both of them too afraid to voice it. Robert gives him a shrug and a sheepish grin, like he's embarrassed he ever had the thought.

Jimmy just smiles and says, "Maybe."

The two other bathrooms are pretty much smaller versions of the master, and as they're heading downstairs Jimmy asks, "So, how much would a place like this run me?"

"The owners are asking for $75,000."

"Hmm. How long's it been for sale?"

"About two months. People seem to get turned off by the mansard roofline or the price. But it is pre-furnished and entirely renovated."

Jimmy rubs his stubbled jaw. "Do you mind if we talk about this for a moment?" he asks, motioning to his merry band of idiots.

"Go ahead."

They slip out the French doors in the sitting room and step into the backyard. "You're not seriously thinkin' about buyin' this place, are you?" Bonzo asks. Mr. Incredulous.

"I'm not _not_ thinking about it."

Bonzo groans, pinches the bridge of his nose like just listening to Jimmy is giving him a headache.

"Pagey, we don't have that much money," Robert reminds him.

"It's literally the first house you looked at. And we don't even live here!" Bonzo says. "Don't you know you're s'posed to shop around first before you make a big decision?"

"Look, I know we don't have $75,000. But I think we can haggle." Bonzo makes an aggrieved noise. "But, okay, that's not the point. This is a crazy idea, but hear me out. What if we all lived together? There's four bedrooms, so we could each have one if that's how you wanna do it. It's big enough, it's in a decent area... And between the four of us, we could pay off the mortgage without too much of a problem."

Bonzo looks like he wants to say something but doesn't. No one speaks, so Jimmy feels the need to keep talking. "Jonesy, you're smart. What do you think? Am I being an idiot?"

"Yes!" Bonzo insists before Jonesy shushes him.

"I think it's a nice idea," Jonesy says, in the way that absolutely means there's a 'but' coming. Jimmy has a feeling that everything before the 'but' is bullshit.

"But?"

"Look, Jim, you and Robert are wonderful people, but living with another couple isn't really the life I imagined for myself."

"Yeah, well, I never pictured myself shacking up with a dude, but, hey, shit happens." Jimmy glances at Robert, who may have been offended by that. "No offense, babe."

"None taken," Robert says, tossing his hair over his shoulder and placing his hands on his hips in what might be the most flamboyant display ever demonstrated by man.

"Dude, you're, like, what, thirty-something?" Bonzo weighs in. "And you still wanna live like a frat guy? Grow up, Page."

Jimmy rakes a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Alright, fuck, I shouldn't've even—whatever." He hates himself for entertaining the idea, because even now, after he's attempting to build a life for himself and put down roots and actually do something, he's still being told it isn't good enough, that he's not fitting into whatever pre-determined structure society deems that of a successful human being. Somehow, Jimmy is still incomprehensibly out of step with the rest of the world. "I thought I was offering you guys something nice, but, no, yeah, maybe I'm just an immature asshole."

"Pagey, no," Robert says with love, taking Jimmy's frantic hands in his own. "I think it's a sweet idea you wanted to include them. I'd be happy to live here with you, just the two of us, if that's what you want." Jimmy doesn't appear convinced. "It's a good idea to settle down, y'know. As much as we'd like to, we can't just drive around forever. But there'll be other houses in other cities. It doesn't have to be this one if you're feeling dodgy about it." He rubs his thumbs over the hills and valleys of Jimmy's knuckles. "Why don't you sleep on it, yeah? Maybe you'll be able to think a little more clearly tomorrow."

He knows he's just feeling the proverbial walls closing in, the gut-burning worry that his chances of achieving happiness and fulfillment are fading fast. Just like the slanted walls of the house, Jimmy feels his comfortable little cocoon of procrastination and postponement shrinking to claustrophobic dimensions. Intellectually, he knows this insatiable itch to buy the house is just his attempt to stave off that feeling of nothingness he's carried since he hit thirty.

"Alright, yeah, sure," Jimmy says. "I'm just—I'm just being stupid."

Before he leaves, though, he slips Patricia's business card into his back pocket, just in case.

* * *

They catch dinner at a downtown burger bar where Thursday nights are trivia nights, so Jonesy wins them a decent cash prize with his ridiculous knowledge of obscure odds and ends. Jimmy takes second place through his osmosis-like absorption of pop culture factoids. So they're all feeling pretty great when they settle into a nearby hotel.

Once they're inside, Robert lets Jimmy drag him onto the bed, and their subsequent coupling is a mix of tender love-making and aggressive fucking. Jimmy breathes hot over the bowed curve of Robert's spine, hands clenched around his hips as he shoves in. Robert's making the most beautiful fucking noises while he rocks into Jimmy's impatient thrusts, and Jimmy feels a full-body shudder when Robert crests around him, so impossibly tight around his cock it forces his orgasm from him. Robert moans a contented noise into the pillows, and Jimmy fucks him through the aftershocks until they're spent and shaking.

Jimmy's lying over Robert's sweat-damp back, panting into his hair. "God, I love you," he sighs, uncaring how lame or cliché he sounds. "I love you so much."

Robert moves so they're facing each other and he can touch his fingers to Jimmy's chest. "I love you, too," he says, as though it's the most simple thing in the world.

"Please don't let me fuck this up again," Jimmy begs. "I can't afford any more mistakes."

"You think the house is a mistake?"

"I don't know. Do you? Because, fuck, you gotta tell me if it is."

Robert drapes an arm over the bare curve of Jimmy's hip, fingers teasing at the small of his back. "I think it's a lovely home. It might be a bit too big if Bonzo and Jonesy don't live with us. But it does look a lot like the picture you drew... There's a few differences, but it's like you imagined that house into existence."

"That's a bit of an overstatement," Jimmy says with a shrug. "You can't really imagine something entirely new. It's all a confusing jumble of things you've seen before, sometimes without even realizing it. Like, when you see a face in your dream, it's a face you've seen before, even if just in passing on the street, because the brain can't imagine totally new faces."

Robert gives him a strange look. "You sound like Jonesy."

"You did not just say that," Jimmy laughs, playfully shoving him.

Robert snuggles closer. "Even so, you still drew that picture because you wanted that particular home. I think there's something meaningful there, but it is a lot of money..." He sighs. "I dunno, Pagey. Maybe Bonzo's right about not picking the first thing you find. Buying a house is a big decision. I don't think you're making a mistake, but it might not be the best choice either."

"Well, thanks, Robert, that was _so_ helpful."

Robert shrugs. "'S'all I've got, I'm afraid. But maybe you'll be able to think more clearly in the morning. You know you don't have to make this decision now, right?"

Jimmy nods, but he doesn't really believe it. Of course there's still time, but that's the excuse he's been banking on for years. How much longer is he going to depend on the future to bail him out?

"I've got a bit of a confession," Robert says. "I only paid one month's advance on my flat. So, um, maybe we ought to head back soon after we see Boston."

A cold hand squeezes Jimmy's heart. "You want—you wanna leave?"

"Not without you, of course. I know you moved out, so you can just stay with me."

"Don't make me go back to LA, Sunflower."

"What's wrong with LA?"

Jimmy tries to collect his thoughts in a way that will make them make sense to Robert. "I just... I don't like who I am when I'm there. I feel... broken. Isn't that how you felt in England?"

"Well, yes, but a change of venue didn't exactly solve my problems." Robert tucks his arm tighter around Jimmy. "It's not where you are, Pagey. It's who you are. That doesn't change whether you're in LA or London or Providence." His mouth curls into a smile that breaks Jimmy's heart. "Didn't you say as much to me once before? That I couldn't run from who I am?"

"That was... sort of a different situation, but, yeah, I did say that."

"Would that house make you happy?"

Jimmy thinks about paying off a $75,000 mortgage, thinks about finding a decent job that won't leave him feeling hollowed out, thinks about the same internal clusterfuck playing out in a different state. "I dunno... Maybe. For a little while..."

"Can you even remember the last time you were happy?"

Someone knocks on the door to their room, and Jimmy says, "No, thank you," before it hits him that housekeeping probably wouldn't stop by at night.

A soft, familiar voice sounds from the other side. "It's me." Jonesy.

"Hold on!" Robert's already leaping out of bed and pulling on his jeans, a move he must have performed many times before, because it looks effortlessly choreographed. Jimmy barely manages to get his underwear on before Robert's swinging open the door.

Jonesy's eyes are wet, his cheeks a splotchy red. "Can I just—hang out with you guys for a bit?" His voice has that 'trying very hard not to cry' quality to it that makes Jimmy want to wrap him in a blanket and feed him soup.

"Yeah, yeah, what happened?" Robert ushers Jonesy inside, peering briefly down the hall for Bonzo before shutting the door. "Did you and Bonzo have a fight?"

"Did he hit you?" Jimmy blurts out, the words tripping off his tongue before he can stop them.

Jonesy looks momentarily offended, then he's shaking his head and sitting in the armchair near the bed. "No, no, I—God, I'd rather he hit me. I could deal with that."

"Jesus, what'd he do?"

Jonesy hugs himself like he's cold and says, "He's gone."

For a long time, neither of them know what to say to that. The words seem to suck out all the air in the room along with them. Then Robert croaks, "Gone, like... _gone_?"

Jonesy wipes away the tears streaming from his eyes. "He just walked out."

Jimmy heaves a sigh of relief. "Jesus, you can't just say vague, tragic shit like that and then not elaborate! What the fuck, dude?"

"Did you say something to him?" Robert wonders, sort of accusingly, and Jimmy snickers. "What, there's no reason Bonzo would've just gotten up and left unless Jonesy said something to upset him!"

Jonesy looks suspiciously guilty. "I just told him I love him. Then he freaked out, packed his bag, and just left."

"What a fucking asshole," Jimmy says. "He told me he loves you."

Jonesy's eyes widen, his lips parting in a soundless gasp. "Wh—what? He said that? When?"

"I 'unno, about a week ago? I don't even know what fucking day it is, gimme a break." Jimmy can't understand why Bonzo would bolt after hearing Jonesy returns his feelings. Isn't that what he wants? "Are you sure you didn't say anything else that could'a upset him?"

Jonesy shrugs, scrubs a hand through his hair. "I dunno, that was—that was pretty big. Maybe he's not ready for something serious. I shouldn't have—"

Jimmy's already pulling his jeans over his hips. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. He's just being an asshole." He sticks his arms through his t-shirt sleeves and stuffs his feet into his shoes. "But he couldn't have gone very far since he doesn't have the keys to the van." He pushes past Jonesy and storms out of the room. It's a short walk to the end of the hallway, then he's rushing two flights down the stairwell to the ground floor.

Outside, the cool night air chills Jimmy's skin, and he sees a Bonzo-shaped mass sulking down the paved walkway with a duffle bag slung over its shoulder. Jimmy calls out, "Hey, asshole!" which makes the shape turn, and, yep, it's Bonzo. Jimmy jogs to catch up with him, which he vows never to do again, because he hates running.

"What're you doin', Page?"

"Retrieving your stupid ass. Did you seriously run out in the middle of a conversation? That's the least mature thing I've ever heard."

"Because you're the king of maturity."

"So that's really saying something." Jimmy groans a sigh, because Bonzo isn't slowing down. "What the hell is your problem? You love Jonesy, so why take off when he says it back?"

"None of your business."

"Well, you've kinda made it our business since you decided to just leave without warning. Now, what the fuck's going on?"

"It doesn't involve you, alright?"

"So I'm supposed to just not care when my friend comes to me all upset because of something your dumb ass did?" Jimmy thinks it's unfair for Bonzo to beat the shit out of him because of his transgressions against Robert yet claim it's none of Jimmy's business when Bonzo hurts Jonesy.

Bonzo looks pained but shrugs it off after a moment.

"Look, you're my friend, too. And if something's going on, I wanna know about it. Nothing's gonna get solved if you don't talk."

Bonzo's shaking his head, and Jimmy deflates a little. He's no good at the whole emotional counseling thing, but, damn it, he's trying. Why can't Bonzo just work with him here?

"If you don't wanna talk to me, can you at least talk to Jonesy? Do you know how much it hurts to tell someone you love them and have them just _take off_? Is that really how you want him to remember you?"

"It's better that way," Bonzo says.

"Oh my God, were you dropped as a child? How does that make any sense?" Bonzo doesn't respond to that, so Jimmy tries another avenue. "Okay, fine, I get it, you're hiding something. Will you just tell him? Whatever it is, he can probably handle it. Unless you're, like, a serial killer or something. If you are, Robert owes me money."

Bonzo huffs a humorless laugh, and Jimmy's counting that as progress. He fixes Jimmy with an almost challenging glare. Jimmy really hopes that serial killer thing isn't true. "If it was Robert, would you want to know?"

"Of course!" Jimmy doubts Robert could ever top the whole Jeff clusterfuck. "Because maybe we could fix it, y'know, or try to make it better."

Bonzo shakes his head again. "There's no hope."

"Fuck you, there's always hope. But if you're so stubbornly determined to be a defeatist about this, I guess I can't stop you. At the very least, if you care about Jonesy at all, will you give him a proper goodbye? He deserves that much."

Bonzo stops his stride and exhales a deep breath. Jimmy holds the air in his lungs, hoping that he's made some progress here. If his verbal vomit can't stop Bonzo from leaving...

But Bonzo turns around and heads back to the hotel, grumbling curses under his breath. Jimmy fist-pumps the air since Bonzo's got his back to him. "I'm not going back because you said to," Bonzo protests, sounding every bit like a child who's been forced to apologize for something he did.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"I'm going back because, you're right, Jonesy deserves better." They walk in the quiet night for a moment, the only sound the crunch of leaves beneath their shoes. Then Bonzo adds: "It's just... I'm no good for him."

"Tough shit. It's not your decision. Jesus, you think I don't feel like that every day? But Robert, for some reason, thinks I'm worth keeping around, so I'm trying to fix my shit for his sake."

"How do you do it?" Bonzo asks. "How do you look in the mirror and hate what you see and still keep going?"

"Well, Robert." Jimmy shrugs. "I figure he'd be pretty bummed if I offed myself. Plus, y'know, lots and lots of alcohol."

Bonzo doesn't look too happy to be taking advice from Jimmy. Jimmy counts this as a personal victory.


	22. The Sound of Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little short--only 2.5k words--but damn if it doesn't make the best of each one.

The group makes it to Boston the next day. Jonesy, to the surprise of no one, insists they stop by Fenway Park. Jimmy pilots the van there and accidentally yawns while Jonesy's rambling about the stadium's history.

"How can you be bored?" Jonesy asks with offense. "You're looking at the oldest US baseball stadium!"

"I'm not bored, I'm tired," Jimmy corrects, rubbing his eyes. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"I slept just fine," Robert says.

"Yeah, but you don't require twelve hours' sleep like I do."

"Doesn't matter how much beauty sleep you get, Princess," Bonzo gripes. "There's some things you can't fix."

Jimmy scowls at him. "Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of me not giving a fuck."

"Pagey," Robert scolds in a pouty sort of way. Jimmy rolls his eyes and flicks his cigarette ash out the window.

They stop in a Downtown bar that evening for drinks. Jimmy's already tired, and he knows booze on an empty stomach will end with Robert carrying his dead-asleep ass to the van, so he stuffs himself with cheap, greasy bar food and zero regrets. The vodka goes down smoothly enough, and after a few rounds of drinks Jimmy ends up sort of leaning against Robert in the booth. Robert doesn't seem to mind, his cheeks flushed pink from the booze and Jimmy's proximity.

"God, you guys are disgusting," Bonzo grumbles into his beer.

Jimmy makes a frame with his fingers and holds it up to his eye. "And here we have the self-hating homosexual out in the wild. A rare sight, indeed."

Jonesy scoots closer to Bonzo and links arms with him. "C'mon, you're just grumpy because you wanna do what they're doing, right?"

Bonzo shrugs out of Jonesy's embrace and downs a long swallow from his sixth beer of the night.

"Watch as the self-hating homosexual rejects affection from his partner, as though reasserting his masculinity to the rest of the tribe," Jimmy says, still narrating like he's part of a National Geographic special.

Robert laughs in that way of his when he's had too much to drink. "Pagey, stop."

"Seriously, Bonz'"—Jimmy belches loudly, and Robert laughs again—"what the hell is your problem?"

Jonesy looks sad and pathetic in his corner of the booth, and Jimmy feels a pang of empathy for him. "Don't worry about it, Jim. He's just being cranky."

"This is your fuckin' fault, Page," Bonzo says, pointing an accusatory finger at Jimmy. "If you would'a just let me leave last night, everything would be fine." There's a slurred edge to his words, and Jimmy knows enough to know Bonzo's a bit on the inebriated side.

Robert gasps. "No, that's not true! You're family. We all would've missed you!"

"Jesus, Robert, shut your sunshine hole," Bonzo grouses, and his drunk tongue makes it sound like 'shunshine,' but of course no one's going to point that out now. "Everyone's sick of your bullshit, relentless optimism. What the fuck do you know, huh? Do you have any idea what it's like to be dying with no way to stop it?"

"We're all dying, just at different rates," Jimmy says through a mouthful of cheese fries. "And, look, I get that you're pissed at me, but don't take it out on Robert, alright?"

Robert doesn't appear fazed by Bonzo's harsh words, rather, he looks upset that Bonzo would be so distressed to verbally harangue him in the first place. Jonesy's gone sort of pale on the opposite side of the table, his brow creased in distress. "Wh—what are you talking about, John?" he says in a tiny voice that somehow carries a fuck-ton of authority.

Bonzo glares at Jimmy like he blames him for everything. "About two months ago, I went to the doctor. They found some sorta growth on my liver. Maybe it's cancerous, maybe it isn't, but—"

"What?" Jonesy interrupts. "When the hell were you gonna tell me?"

"Well, never."

Jonesy's jaw drops.

"That's why I tried to leave last night," Bonzo explains. "What's the point of staying with me if I'm just gonna die?"

Jonesy draws in a deep breath, and Jimmy can see he's subtly shaking.

" _Maybe_ you're dying," Jimmy corrects, because he thinks optimism is good here. "You said it might not be cancerous, right? So there's a chance it's nothing serious."

"Well, generally you shouldn't have strange growths on your organs," Jonesy snaps. "But yeah, it's possible. But there's also a chance whatever it is has metastasized within the two months he's kept this a secret." He scrubs a hand over his face, and Jimmy can only imagine what horrors Jonesy's medical-oriented brain is conjuring up right now. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, 'I might be dying' ain't a great pick-up line."

"We spent two nights at my parents' house! With my dad, who's a surgeon!" Jonesy protests. "Why didn't you take him aside and at least mention it ? Doctor-patient confidentiality! He wouldn't have said anything to me!"

"Bonzo..." Robert whimpers, then his sadness is replaced by hope. "Wait, why not just set up an appointment with Jonesy's dad and see what's going on in there? It might be nothing, and you can just get the bloody thing removed."

"Oh yeah, lemme just pull thousands of dollars outta my ass for elective surgery. Idiot."

"Seriously, if you don't stop being a dick, I'm gonna have to kick your ass." Jimmy thinks that threat would have been much more intimidating if he hadn't burped an extra four syllables into the word 'dick.'

Jonesy gives Bonzo a wounded look. "I don't get it. Why are you so worried about money? You're dating a doctor who has a surgeon for a father. I'm sure we could work something out."

Bonzo takes another drink. "And that would be great if I was having the surgery. But I'm not."

"Why the fuck not?" Jonesy asks. Robert and Jimmy exchange looks, a tacit acknowledgement that shit just got real. None of them have ever heard Jonesy swear like he did just now, and Jonesy looks distressed from the effort.

Even Bonzo seems taken aback by Jonesy's f-bomb. "I told you last night. If I'm just gonna turn out like my dad, what's the point of sticking around and putting you through that?"

"So you'd rather make me fall in love with you and then just check out? That's not fair, goddamn it!" Jonesy says, his fist crashing down onto the table. "That's bullshit, you don't get to do that!"

"Look what I did to Jimmy's face!" Bonzo says, and suddenly all eyes are on Jimmy's fading bruises.

"That doesn't prove anything," Jonesy challenges. "You've been walking around thinking you're going to die. That's the kind of thing that might make a guy drink a little bit more and get angry."

"Yeah, and, I mean, you like Robert, and you saw me treating him like shit and throwing away a great relationship..." Jimmy shrugs the end of that sentence into oblivion. "You had plenty of reasons besides genetics to beat the shit out of me."

"My dad wasn't the father of the year, either," Robert adds. "But I see it as a challenge to be better than he was."

Bonzo rolls his eyes. "Was he an alcoholic, Robert? Because that shit's genetic. And how do you think most kids turn out who grow up in a house where Daddy beats Mommy? It's not much of a _challenge_ when the odds are stacked against me."

"Then why did you even bother? If you're just gonna let yourself die, then what was the point of—" The sentence chokes off in Jonesy's throat, but Jimmy can figure out how it might have ended.

It's obvious to Jimmy what Bonzo's endgame is here. The threat of dying is basically a free pass for Bonzo to take chances. He gets in bar fights, hooks up with the cute guy at the beach, beats up the douchebag he never really liked. It's diplomatic immunity.

"Look, we don't know how much time I've got left," Bonzo says. "I feel fine right now. We might have a couple years before the end of the road."

"You're being really selfish, Bonz'," Robert says. "And cruel."

"And you're an idiot."

Jimmy sighs and slumps in his seat. _Here we go_ , he thinks, shoveling in another forkful of cheese fries. _Dinner and a show._

"I'm sorry, I know you mean well, but you're so goddamned blind to the most obvious shit," Bonzo continues. "How can you sit there and call me selfish when the only reason you want me alive is for your own benefit? I love Jonesy, enough to do what's best for him instead of sticking around and making him miserable. But you think you can solve everyone's problems with your fortune cookie bullshit." He sinks his teeth into every word, and they come out chewed. "And you're always rubbing your relationship with Jimmy in everyone's face. Like, yeah, we get it, you're happy together and everything's wonderful. Give it a fuckin' rest. He's an impulsive, drunk asshole. You really caught yourself a winner there."

Robert makes a wounded, pouty face, and Jimmy opens his mouth to come to his defense.

But Jonesy cuts in before Jimmy can say anything. "Alright, John, fine, if you're so pig-headedly determined to die, I won't stop you, but, goddammit, you're going to treat us better than this before you're gone."

Bonzo takes a moment to think that over before finishing his beer. He wipes his mouth with his arm and stands up. "I need some air." Jonesy drags his fingers through his hair and makes no attempt to stop him as he leaves.

It's at that moment Jimmy realizes how to get through to Bonzo, and he can't believe he didn't see it before. Bonzo won't listen to Robert and Jonesy, because they're not cynical bastards like Jimmy. Jimmy, surprisingly enough, is more like Bonzo in many regards, and he's had enough self-induced flirtations with death to make him pretty knowledgeable on the topic.

Jimmy stuffs some more fries into his mouth and gets up from the table. He follows Bonzo outside to the parking lot around the corner. A few streetlamps slice through the dark night. Gravel crunches under Jimmy's shoes. Bonzo reaches the van and just sort of leans against it, his anger spent.

"You're not going anywhere without these," Jimmy says, jingling the keys at him.

Bonzo isn't happy to see Jimmy, but that's hardly a surprise. "Page."

"Look, you're gonna have to stop being such a giant pain in the ass."

"Phrasing."

Jimmy fights a smirk.

"So did you chase me down for a pep talk or somethin'? Like you're a fuckin' motivational speaker all of a sudden?"

"No, actually, I get it. I get why you're doing this."

Bonzo blinks, like he never thought he'd hear that from anyone.

"Hope is scary. Now that you've started to care about Jonesy, you dread the day he'll be gone. When you imagine a future for the both of you, well, now you've got something to lose. The worst might actually be yet to come. So you'd rather die now and pretend it's for the greater good than risk being disappointed or hurt in the long run. But you don't _really_ want to die. You just want a free pass to ignore your problems, 'cause if you're dead you won't have to worry about turning out like your dad or disappointing Jonesy. But you're too dumb to realize this slow suicide is just screwing Jonesy up even more."

Bonzo's mouth twitches into a frown underneath his mustache. "You think you're so smart, huh?"

"Only 'cause I've been there. I tried to kill myself Monday morning."

Bonzo looks stunned. "Jesus..."

"And that's not even the first time," Jimmy says with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I know what it's like to think everyone would be better off without you. But the last thing I remember before passing out was thinking, 'oh fuck, this is gonna destroy Robert.' Like somehow, deep down, I knew he loves me in spite of me. Not dying was the best thing that could have happened to me. Dude, Jonesy is your Robert. And if I can start getting my shit together, then you can, too."

"Does Robert know you tried to off yourself?"

Jimmy shakes his head. "He can't ever know, okay? Please, _please_ do me a solid and keep your mouth shut."

"That seems like somethin' he should know."

"Oh, you're one to talk, Mr. Secret Cancer," Jimmy bites back. Bonzo opens his mouth to argue but quickly shuts it. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Bonzo doesn't say anything for a handful of seconds, and Jimmy thinks he's done all he can here. "Well, I just thought I'd throw my two cents in. I really doubt you wanna let the shithead alcoholic coke fiend beat you at life," he says before heading back into the bar.

* * *

Jonesy's already formulated a plan by the time Jimmy wakes up the next morning. Jimmy hears this secondhand from Robert, who wakes him up by tossing packages of Twinkies and Sno Balls at him. "Rise and shine, Pagey!" he trills, dropping onto the empty space on the bed.

Jimmy groans a long noise of displeasure. "What're you so happy about, Sunflower?"

"For one, it's a beautiful day, and Bonzo's agreed to speak with Jonesy's dad about having the surgery."

That wakes Jimmy the fuck up. "No shit, really?" He sits up, and a pack of Twinkies slides off his lap. "That's great."

"Well, I dunno if he's agreeing so much as begrudgingly complying, y'know, since he can't exactly go off on his own without Jonesy. But it's progress, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jimmy agrees, half-asleep, and he tears into the Sno Balls.

Fifteen minutes later, the plan hits a snag. "My dad's out of town," Jonesy says with a sigh after Robert lets him inside the room. He sits beside Jimmy on the bed, which Jimmy's a little uncomfortable with, considering he's naked beneath the thin motel blankets. "He's in Chicago for some business convention."

"How long?"

"'Til Monday."

"So why don't we just go there and ask him in person?" Jimmy can't understand why he's the first to pitch this brilliant idea.

Jonesy gives him a stunned look. "You'd—you'd do that?"

"Well, yeah? How were you gonna get home otherwise?"

"We thought we'd take a bus."

"Bullshit. We're with you," Jimmy says, because he's feeling particularly generous this morning. "But I'm sick of driving, so that's gonna have to be your problem."

Jonesy smiles, awed and appreciative of Jimmy's sudden goodwill. Without warning, he pulls Jimmy into a hug, entirely unconcerned with Jimmy's state of undress. "Thank you, Jim. You're a good friend."

"Oh, this is awkward," Jimmy says, if only to distract himself from the gnawing feeling that he may, in fact, be good after all.


	23. Miracles

Jonesy puts them en route to downtown Chicago in the van. Bonzo sits shotgun, while Jimmy and Robert sprawl throughout the back and share a joint. Jimmy inhales the cloying scent of smoke, lets it fill his lungs as the blacktop churns beneath him. Robert's holding him close, one hand pushed underneath Jimmy's t-shirt and resting over his stomach. Jimmy feels the heat of Robert's breath against his ear.

"Pass it, babe," Robert whines, and Jimmy does. He hears the crinkle of the paper as Robert takes a long, hard drag, then the soft exhale of smoke.

"I've been thinking," Jimmy starts. "Maybe, after all this is over, we ought'a head back home. I mean, there's no point in just wandering around and searching for meaning." He plucks the joint from Robert and takes another pull. "You've got ambitions. But me... I dunno, maybe there's no big picture for me, so I might as well enjoy the little pictures."

"I think that's the weed talking," Robert says. "But it's probably a good idea. I don't wanna lose my flat."

"Do you—Really? It's still LA. Aren't you worried about me falling into the wrong crowds?"

"It's far enough away from all that. I can't really afford to live too close to Hollywood, y'know. But I'm not opposed to relocating. I just don't think a change of venue will solve all your problems. It seems like you're trying to run from them, y'know?"

"Well, you can definitely put some distance between them and you," Jimmy says before taking another pull. "But I get what you mean. Can't run forever." He thinks Robert is restless and homesick, so maybe relocation is in the cards for them at some point in the future.

The drive to Chicago is a long one, which Jonesy's just beginning to realize as they're rolling through Cleveland, Ohio. "God, it's been, like, nine hours!" he groans. "Jim, how d'you put up with this?"

"Rarely did I drive more than three hours at a time. But it's already dark. Let's just call it a night and finish the drive in the morning. Your dad'll be there all weekend, right?"

Jonesy pouts. "Yeah, but..."

"Aw, c'mon, one night ain't gonna kill me," Bonzo says. Then he says, "or maybe it will," and makes a tiny sound that could almost be a laugh, or like he's just swallowed a bug.

Jonesy's had just about enough of Bonzo's shit. He veers the van onto the shoulder of the interstate, hard enough that Jimmy and Robert tumble in the back. The vehicle lurches to a stop, and Jonesy snaps off his seatbelt so he can bear down on Bonzo. "Fuck you, John, and your secret cancer and your stupid jokes that treat death like something so fucking casual."

"It's how I cope!" Bonzo protests.

"That's bullshit and we both know it. Do you know how upsetting it is to hear you act like dying isn't the biggest fucking deal there is? My life and my job are devoted to saving lives, and here you are treating your own with such callous indifference. Don't you dare abandon me because you couldn't be bothered to take care of yourself."

A few seconds of silence go by, and Jimmy says, "What if Bonzo's not dying? I mean, that's still a thing, right?"

"Yes, it is," Jonesy says. He lets the weight of that settle in before throwing the van back in gear and driving them to a motel.

* * *

They reach Chicago the next afternoon while the sun is high in the sky. The city is a magnificent display of skyscrapers and impressive architecture, but after traveling across the country for over a month, all the bridges and buildings seem to blend together into one congealed mass. Robert's still impressed, though, so Jimmy has to lead him by hand into the hotel.

The downtown Sheraton is massive, but Jonesy seems to know his way around. He leads them through the lobby and into the elevator. "I called my dad while we were at lunch," Jonesy says, perhaps sensing the three pairs of eyes curiously staring at him. "He said he'll meet us in the Fountainview Room."

"How do you know where things are?" Robert asks.

"Just read the signs," Jonesy says. It's hard to say something like that without sounding like a know-it-all douchebag, but he pulls it off.

The elevator dings and opens into a stunning lounge and bar area decorated in hues of gold and brown. The room hums with activity as professional-looking men and women chat and mill about. Mr. Jones is seated on a loveseat near the tall, crystal-clear windows, so Jonesy pulls them in that direction.

"John!" Mr. Jones greets his son, standing up and pulling him into a hug. "Long time no see."

"It hasn't been that long," Jonesy says, and they sit in the plush, luscious seating that seems to swallow them up. Robert and Jimmy take one loveseat, and Jonesy and Bonzo join Mr. Jones on the other. Robert gazes out the window at the Chicago skyline.

"So, what's wrong with Bonzo?" Mr. Jones asks.

"You got all day?" Jimmy says dryly, earning himself an elbow in the side from Robert.

"Two months ago, I went to the doctor, and he found a lump on my liver," Bonzo explains. "He couldn't tell if it was cancerous or not, but the operation to remove it cost too much."

"So it's had two months to fester and grow," Jonesy points out. "That we know about."

"Well, John," Mr. Jones starts, looking pointedly at Bonzo and not his own son, "I'd be happy to run another test and see what we're dealing with here. There's always a chance it's nothing serious."

"And if it is?" Jonesy frets.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I can't afford the surgery either way," Bonzo protests.

Mr. Jones gives him a stern look. "Bonzo, you're family. Don't worry about money right now. This is your life we're talking about."

Jonesy smiles. "Yeah, we're good for it."

Bonzo sighs, rubs the back of his neck. "I don't wanna be a burden."

"Family's s'posed to be a pain in the ass," Jonesy says. "Would you just give it a rest?"

Mr. Jonesy says, "If you'd like, you can come back to Cincinnati with me when the weekend's over, and I'll run the tests at Good Samaritan. You're welcome to stay with us as long as you need."

"I'm coming, too," Jonesy adds.

"Phrasing," Jimmy warns, and earns himself another elbow to the side. "Oh, what, like you weren't thinking it?" Robert ignores him.

Jonesy continues, "I'll be able to take care of you after the surgery."

"You don't have to cut your trip short 'cause of me," Bonzo says, looking distraught.

"I just wanted to have fun. And I met you, so it wasn't a total loss." Jonesy lays a hand on Bonzo's shoulder. "C'mon, it'll be okay, no matter what happens. I need you alive," he says with a heartbreaking half-smile.

Bonzo nods, takes Jonesy's hand in his own. "Alright, I'll try my best."

Jonesy throws his arms around Bonzo's neck and hugs him tightly. Bonzo tries to look put out about it, but Jimmy can see the slight tremble in Bonzo's hands as he hugs Jonesy back.

"Do you want us to come with you?" Robert asks. "I can't imagine not being there when you wake up from the surgery."

"You really wanna help me?" Bonzo says. "Go back to LA, both of you. I'm facing my fear, so you guys gotta do the same."

"B—but you're gonna have surgery!" Robert protests. "At least let us be there for you."

Even Jimmy thinks that's a little harsh. "Dude, c'mon, we're friends. Don't send us away."

"I know you, Page, and you'll stretch this shit out for months. And Robert's dumb enough to let you."

Robert pouts in offense.

Bonzo folds his arms over his chest and says, "If you guys don't leave town by tonight, I'm not having the operation."

"Seriously?" Jimmy argues. "You wouldn't have even met Jonesy if it wasn't for us."

"Maybe not. But I did you a solid, so now it's your turn."

Robert shakes his head, his golden curls swaying. "I can't believe you don't want us around."

Jimmy gives Robert a questioning look. "Really? You  _can't_  believe it? I mean, it's a dick move, but really?"

"Look," Jonesy cuts in, "I love you guys. But if this is what it takes for him to have this operation..."

Jimmy gets it, though, and he knows Bonzo's right. He would have kept dragging out this trip, unwilling to return "home" and start living again. He can easily imagine a situation where he and Robert end up rooming in Jonesy's parents' extravagant mansion and treating the whole thing like an extended vacation. Robert has ambitions and obligations back home, and part of being in a relationship is sharing your partner's burdens, not forcing them into arrested adolescence where the challenges of real life don't exist. This isn't fair to Robert.

Plus, he owes Bonzo.

"He's right," Jimmy says. "Alright, you stubborn ass, we'll get outta here." He stands up and moves toward Bonzo. "Y'know how people say 'it's been a pleasure'? Well, it hasn't." He grins and fakes a punch at Bonzo, who stands up and pulls him into a beast-like hug. Jimmy feels the last few breaths of air leave his lungs as Bonzo squeezes him.

"Treat him right, you son of a bitch," Bonzo murmurs at Jimmy's ear, and Jimmy can't answer without oxygen. "And don't you dare pull that shit again."

Mercifully, Bonzo lets go of Jimmy to inflict his unique brand of torture on Robert, and Jimmy slinks off to bid farewell to Jonesy. Jonesy scribbles his address and phone number onto a cocktail napkin and stuffs it into Jimmy's hand. "Keep in touch, okay? I know people say that and then they never do, so don't be an asshole."

Jimmy smirks. "I gotta be me."

Jonesy looks at Jimmy with wet-eyed fondness and hugs him. "God, why am I even gonna miss you? You're a jerk," he mumbles into Jimmy's t-shirt.

Jimmy chuckles and rubs Jonesy's back. "It's been fun, kid."

"Shut up," Jonesy laughs, slapping Jimmy's arm.

After Jonesy and Bonzo retrieve their bags from the van, after everyone's exchanged goodbyes and phone numbers, Jimmy and Robert are alone again. They sit together in the van for a long silent moment. Jimmy reaches over and takes Robert's hand in his own. "Looks like it's just you and me again," he says, trying humor. "Just like the good ol' days."

Robert gives Jimmy a pained smile before turning to look out the window. They stay silent as Jimmy pilots the van through the streets, and the occasional sniffle from Robert is the only indication he's weeping against the passenger side window.

* * *

Jimmy cheers Robert up a bit with a deep dish pizza from a nearby pizza joint. It's hard to be pouty and frowny when you're faced with a steaming hot pizza pie topped with marinated mushrooms, spinach, garlic, mozzarella, and grated romano cheese. But Jimmy can see the despair leaking from Robert's eyes even through his near-pornographic moans around bites of pizza.

"Cheer up, Sunflower," Jimmy says, poking at a bulbous mushroom with his fork. "Bonzo's gonna be fine."

"I know, I just... I miss 'em already."

"We'll keep in touch."

"There was something really special about us as a group, y'know?"

Jimmy nods in understanding. "I can't believe our trip is almost over. It's like when the lights come on at the end of a movie and real life starts again."

"Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," Jimmy says with a laugh.

"I'll help you! Don't worry, Pagey, everything will be okay." Robert takes another bite, groans in ecstasy. "Oh God, this is so good. You're gonna eat yours, right?" He reaches toward Jimmy's own slice with his fork before Jimmy bats the utensil away.

"There's nearly an entire pie left!" Jimmy protests. "Don't punish me because I'm a slow eater."

"Phrasing?" Robert says, like even he isn't sure if that joke works here.

Jimmy shakes his head. "They can't all be winners."

After lunch, Jimmy finds an occult shop nearby and unloads the books he's been lugging around this entire trip. He earns an impressive amount of cash, which Robert can't stop staring at as Jimmy flips through the bills once they're back into the van.

"That's a lotta money," Robert says.

"Well, we're gonna need it. It's a long way back to LA." Jimmy gives Robert a sweet smile. "Why don't you get some sleep? We can probably make it home in a day and a half if we take turns driving."

Robert makes himself comfortable in the back with the blankets and pillows, and Jimmy switches on the radio to keep himself entertained during the drive through some of the most boring states the US has to offer. He finds himself singing along to everything he knows the words to, which Robert calls him on halfway through Iowa.

"You've got such a lovely voice," Robert says, and Jimmy yells in surprise and nearly slams on the brakes right there.

"Jesus—Fuck, how long were you listening?"

"Long enough," he says with a smile in his voice. At least Jimmy's not being embarrassed in front of anyone, though it's not like Robert knowing one of his secret shames is any sort of consolation prize.

"You're s'posed to be asleep."

"I got hungry." Robert locates the box containing the leftover pizza and plucks out a slice. "And I woke up when we hit that pothole."

"What the fuck, that was like ten miles ago!" Jimmy yells.

"I never pictured you as the kind of bloke who'd know all the words to a Barry Manilow song."

"I'm driving head-on into the first eighteen-wheeler I see."

"Oh, don't be embarrassed, Pagey. I love everything about you," Robert says, like it's true. "I love how you sing along to the guitar solos, and the way you touch your nose when you're nervous. I love how you get all flustered and angry when you're embarrassed—"

"Shut up, Robert, I'm trying to drive!"

"—like you're doing right now. Maybe other people don't appreciate those things about you, but I do."

Jimmy sighs, his cynical exterior softened yet again by Robert's sweet and open honesty. "You're a real sappy motherfucker, aren't you?"

"I just think it's a good idea to tell people you appreciate them while you've got 'em around."

"In that case, you're a pain in my ass, and I love you."

Jimmy runs out of steam about halfway through Nebraska—he'd forgotten that was even a state—so Robert, refreshed and renewed, commandeers the van. It's easy for Jimmy to fall asleep in the back, exhaustion and the country darkness serving as a potent cocktail for his eyelids to slide shut. He fades away to the soothing roll of the highway beneath him.

Jimmy doesn't wake up until it's daylight again and the van's rolling to a stop outside of a gas station off the interstate. "We home?" he asks, groggy with sleep.

"No, not yet."

Jimmy grumbles and rubs his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. He looks out the windows, but nothing looks familiar or helps him get his bearings. "Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Utah."

"What the fuck? Why?"

"'Cause I'm hungry and tired and we need more petrol."

Those are pretty good reasons, so Jimmy refuels the van and buys them some snacks for the rest of the drive.

"I could never be a truck driver," Robert says, crunching on chips as Jimmy pilots them down the interstate. "All that sitting and driving..."

"Yeah, this trip was a lot more fun when we got to stop and smell the roses."

"And when we had Jonesy and Bonzo to liven things up."

"You're probably lying in a spot where they fucked," Jimmy says, because he's a little shit sometimes.

Robert laughs. "Too tired to care, Pagey." He stops making conversation, and then the only noises he's making are crunching sounds as he devours potato chips. At some point, he falls asleep, and Jimmy doesn't feel like too much of a dork singing along to the radio.


	24. The Golden Road (To Unlimited Devotion)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this, there's one more chapter (more of an epilogue, really). The corresponding tumblr post for that update will be an entirely new post with 10 new drawings~ :D I have a new story in the works that I'll start posting on Jimmy's birthday (which actually coincides with the timeline in the fic, haha), but aside from that, I don't really have any Jimbert stuff in the works (well, there's one other story, but that's more of a collab and idk when that's getting started), so if you have any suggestions for things you'd like to see (i'm a big fan of AUs, as u can tell), let me know! I might turn them into a short one-shot or something longer like the vampire AU or go all out and do a full-blown 50k+ fic! ya never know~

Eleven hours later, Jimmy pulls up to Robert's little apartment building. They're too exhausted to even think about unloading the van, so they sort of collapse onto the bed once they're inside. Jimmy barely manages to kick off his shoes and jeans before melting into bed. Robert's mattress is the nicest thing Jimmy's slept on in two days, and it's awash in the scent of him.

"Holy shit," Jimmy murmurs into the pillow.

"What?"

"Your bed smells like you."

"I hope that's not a problem," Robert says, like he thinks Jimmy might be complaining about that fact.

"Hell no." It's the first time in over a month Jimmy's slept somewhere that feels like home instead of some rented space. "You smell awesome."

Robert giggles and loops an arm around Jimmy's waist. "Why don't you get some sleep, love?"

"I love it when you talk like an old British grandmother," Jimmy mumbles, and that's the last thing he remembers before exhaustion sweeps him away.

He doesn't wake up until the daylight's blasting through the drapes and the sun's long fingers are crawling over him. Robert's gone, presumably in the shower if that distant hissing sound is any clue. Jimmy stretches out in the bed and looks around. The bed is covered in decorative throw pillows; Jimmy's got his face buried in one with some sort of colorful bird on it. The drapes are a gaudy floral pattern best left in the '60s.

Eclectic furnishings that look like something bought at a flea market decorate the room: a weathered chest near the window, an antique bookcase along the wall, a small mahogany night table by the bed. The duvet is a soft robin's egg color, and there's a wool area rug on the floor bearing a pattern that makes Jimmy dizzy just looking at it. Spread across the walls are various wood and steel novelty signs displaying landscapes and animals, while some boast British locales. One of the signs is an old advertisment for root beer, and, goddammit, now Jimmy wants a root beer.

Robert's sense of decorating seems to be "anything goes," judging by the lack of a cohesive theme or color scheme, but Jimmy likes it. It's random and nonsensical and unique, just like Robert himself.

Jimmy forces himself out of bed and pulls on his jeans. He might as well unload the van now that he's up. After dragging all their belongings inside, Jimmy finds Robert in the bedroom with a towel around his hips. In no way is Jimmy turned on by this. Nope. Not at all.

"There you are," Jimmy says, trying casual. He tosses one of the bags at the foot of the bed and takes in Robert's water-logged appearance. "Since you're a wet Plant, does that make you a seaweed?"

Robert does that trying-not-to-laugh thing with his mouth. "That joke is so bad I'm amazed you didn't use it earlier."

"Nope, I was saving it." Jimmy grins and leans against the bureau while Robert digs around for a change of clothes. "Your apartment's a lot nicer on the inside than you'd think. Bigger, too."

"It's like a Tardis," Robert says, and Jimmy's confused silence tells him he's going to need an explanation for that one. "You know, from Doctor Who?"

"Is that some weird British thing?"

"You Americans are so snobby," Robert says, sounding pretty fucking snobby himself. "Doctor Who is a national treasure. I think you'd like it if you liked Star Wars. Imagine the Millennium Falcon was a phone box."

"God, you Brits are weird." Jimmy's breath chokes off in his throat as Robert sheds the towel and steps into a pair of flamboyantly-patterned underwear. Robert's ass, clothed or not, is impossible not to stare at, and Jimmy loses track of the conversation until Robert's fully dressed and turned around.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to be a woman with impressive knockers," Robert says, smirking proudly at the way Jimmy's now gaping at his crotch. "Having to constantly remind the menfolk, 'my eyes are up here.'"

Jimmy shakes his head to bring himself back to planet earth. "Do you not do that already?"

"You're the only one who seems to have a staring problem." Robert tosses his hair over his shoulder and slips out of the room.

Jimmy follows, because that's a pretty decent method of getting to ogle at Robert's ass. "So, uh, now that we're on your home turf, you wanna impress me with your cooking skills?"

"I'd love to, Pagey, but we've been on the road over a month. Most of the food's gone spoilt by now."

Shit, Jimmy didn't even think of that. "Oh."

Robert eases into the kitchen and rifles through the pantry. "We could probably just eat canned goods, but that's no fun, and I need a couple things for breakfast anyway. 'Ave you ever had a biscuit sandwich?"

"Like, British biscuits or real biscuits?"

Robert does that pouty hands-on-hips thing that Jimmy can't help but find adorable. "'Real' biscuits, I suppose you'd call them. But if you're gonna be an uppity American arse, maybe you'll just have to make do and eat Fruit Brute without any milk."

"You're assuming I don't do that anyway. Most cereal is just, like, dry candy."

"So you don't wanna go to the market with me?"

"Slow down there, Sunflower. I didn't say that. You really gonna cook some special dinner for me?"

"For  _us_ ," Robert says, and Jimmy feels his heart melt in his chest.

* * *

About a week later, Jimmy's low again. He isn't sure how it happened. His relationship with Robert is going great, and Robert's quaint little apartment has begun to feel more like home. He's even started drawing again. But soon Jimmy finds himself in a depressive slump, and even the most basic things like getting out of bed are near-herculean tasks.

This scares the fuck out of him, because he can't figure out why his moods fluctuate with little rhyme or reason. Robert certainly isn't unkind or pressuring him. Jimmy's environment is relatively low-stress, but it's like he feels good for a couple days, riding high on a wave of self-assurance, then he wipes out and crashes. The only drug he's touched since his flirtation with suicide has been marijuana, and that's not potent enough to cause such erratic changes in his moods. It's almost like his brain is mimicking the roller coaster of cocaine use, and the worst part is Jimmy doesn't know how to stop it or make it better. All he can do is just find the strength to exist, curled miserably in Robert's bed and mentally combating his self-deriding inner monologue.

At some point, Robert tried cheering him up with an eager blowjob, but Jimmy's cock remained tragically unresponsive, and Jimmy ended up pushing Robert's slick mouth away, because it had been five minutes already and that shit was just embarrassing for everyone involved. He reassured Robert his dick's lack of enthusiasm is in no way a reflection of his feelings for him, but Robert still looked wounded.

By the end of the week, Robert comes home to find Jimmy tangled amongst the blankets, his pitiful form sunken into a Jimmy-shaped imprint in the mattress. "Oh, Pagey," Robert sighs in that way of his when Jimmy's gone and done something remarkably pathetic. He sits beside Jimmy on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Jimmy makes a noncommittal noise and rolls onto his back. Robert gives him a tight smile, his fingers pushing damp strands of hair out of Jimmy's face. It's only then Jimmy notices the sweat that's prickled over his brow. "You think maybe you should see a doctor?" Robert suggests.

"I'm not sick. I mean, I don't feel sick." The words crackle in Jimmy's mouth like old paper.

"Maybe it's not a physical thing. The brain can get sick too, y'know."

"They'll just say I'm crazy and cart me off to a hospital."

"Jonesy might know someone who wouldn't."

Jimmy finds the energy to shrug his shoulders. "If that's what you wanna do."

"What do  _you_  want?"

"Just let it run its course, I guess."

"Well, that seems like we've been doing, yeah? And it hasn't gotten better. I want you to feel better. I don't like seeing you like this."

Jimmy manages a smile, runs a hand over the length of Robert's thigh. "You know I love you, right? Even if I can't get it up to prove it. If I had the energy, God, the things I'd do to you... But even thinking about sex exhausts me."

"Then you ought to do something less strenuous," Robert says with a smile. "Maybe you could try cleaning up a bit? A hot shower might make you feel a little better."

Jimmy exhales a long sigh.

"You don't have to stand. You can just sit there under the water." Robert waits a moment for Jimmy to respond. "If you want, I can get in there with you."

"No, Robert, Jesus, leave me with  _some_  dignity. I can take a damn shower by myself. I'm capable of that much."

It takes Jimmy about ten minutes, but he manages to drag himself into the bathroom and get under the hot shower spray. He sits at the bottom of the tub, his knees drawn up to his chest, and lets the water beat down on him. He can feel the last remnants of his energy slowly seeping out of him, vanishing into some distant place like the water traveling down the shower drain.

Jimmy stays there for a half hour, then miraculously marshals the strength to pull himself to his feet and shampoo his hair. It's slow going, but eventually he finishes the basic task of washing himself and turns off the water, which has inevitably run cold.

While Jimmy's towel-drying his hair, Robert peeks into the room. "Pagey, Bonzo's on the line for you."

There's a phone on the bedside table, and Jimmy picks up the receiver. "Bonzo?"

"Robert tells me you're being a huge pain in the ass."

Good ol' Bonzo. "Phrasing. And how the fuck are you, dude? Did you have the surgery yet?"

"Yeah, turns out we caught it in time, so I'm on bed rest for a while 'til Jonesy thinks I've healed properly."

"That's great. I'm glad you're not dying."

"Enough about me, Page. You know this up-and-down shit isn't healthy, right?"

"I don't think I wanna take health advice from Mr. Secret Cancer."

"Fuck you," Bonzo says, good-naturedly.

"Put your doctor on the phone."

"Nah, I think you and I have better communication. So that's why it's my job to tell you if you don't get your shit together, I'll come to LA and kick your ass again."

"Look, there's nothing to—This is just how my brain works, y'know, in waves and shit. In a couple days I'll be fine again."

"Are you listening to yourself? How long have you been like this?"

"I 'unno, a week?"

"No, I mean overall."

Jimmy thinks it over. "A long time. Since I was in college, at least."

"Jesus." Bonzo sighs, loud and crackly on the other end. "Okay, just... imagine that your whole life you believed the sky was green. That's how you always saw it, so that's how it was. Then somebody tells you it's actually been blue this whole time. Everybody else sees it as blue, and there's just something wrong with your eyes."

"Look, I—" Jimmy stops himself. "Sunflower, are you still on the line?" No answer, so Jimmy's taking it on faith that Robert won't overhear the next words out of his mouth. "I've already done the whole hospital thing, okay? And, obviously, it didn't help."

"Jonesy and his old man have connections. They can hook you up with some mood stabilizers or something. Or send you to somebody who will." Jimmy makes a noise Bonzo must not appreciate, because he adds, "C'mon, you were perfectly happy to snort coke, but you're not gonna try a drug that's s'posed to actually help you?"

"The coke helped," Jimmy protests, but he knows how weak it sounds. He pitches forward, his free hand scrubbing through his hair. "Shit, I don't... I don't wanna be like this, but what if it just gets worse?"

"Well, it doesn't sound like it's gotten better over the last, what, fifteen years with you doing jack shit."

"Point taken."

"Remember that spiel you gave me about taking care of myself for Jonesy? Well, now it's your turn to nut up and get your shit together for Robert. You promised."

Jimmy did promise something to that effect.

"And if you don't, well, I'll just tell Robert about that little 'secret' of yours."

"You motherfucker."

"You've already tried it twice. And if you don't get help, it'll happen again. And maybe this time you won't get so lucky."

"Fuck." That pretty much settles it. Jimmy can't let himself get that low again. "Okay, okay, um, have Jonesy recommend someone to me. If I don't go, you have full permission to kick my ass."

"Again."

"Yeah, again." Apparently Bonzo's never going to let him live that one down.

* * *

_Two weeks later..._

Jimmy's feeling better, good enough to ride Robert's dick until they're both panting and sweating and gasping for breath. "You feel so good inside me," Jimmy sighs, grinding his hips into Robert's weak thrusts. Robert's clutching onto Jimmy's hips with one hand, the other curled around the hot length of Jimmy's cock, cupping and twisting the head. Jimmy feels the subtle twitch of Robert's dick inside of him, can tell he's close by the way he's choking on Jimmy's name and shaking out moans.

Jimmy folds over Robert, his own body quaking from the slow build of his orgasm. His hands curl into fists in the pillows beneath Robert's head. "C'mon, fill me up, Sunflower," Jimmy says into the curve of Robert's shoulder, and Robert lets out a helpless cry as he crests, surrendering to the way Jimmy's rolling his hips like a storm. "God, yes," Jimmy groans, his hips jerking into the wet warmth of Robert's orgasm. His own climax comes on the heels of Robert's, and it rocks him in a dizzy whirl.

They lie there together for a moment or two in a tangle of sweaty, sated limbs. Robert's breathing is soft and soothing in Jimmy's hair. Jimmy's thighs ache and quiver, and he slumps impossibly further, his knees sliding on the sheets. Robert slips out of him, and Jimmy makes a sound of loss.

"Where did all that come from?" Robert asks, his fingers tracing along the highway of Jimmy's spine.

"I love you," Jimmy says simply. "And I wanted to make up for being an asshole the last couple weeks."

"You weren't feeling well. That explains a lot."

"Doesn't excuse it, though. I've been the worst kind of asshole, all blown out and prolapsey."

Robert does that adorable snorting thing when he laughs, and Jimmy wants to carry the sound with him for the rest of his life. "That's exactly how I would describe it."

"He said, sarcastically." Jimmy tips his head so he can watch Robert's face. Robert's got that pinched smile thing going on that Jimmy wants to kiss away. "C'mon, call it what it is."

"It's a mental illness, Pagey. You can't help the way your brain works."

"Nah, I'm not that complicated. I'm just a huge asshole," Jimmy says good-naturedly, tracing circles on Robert's chest around one of his nipples.

"I don't fall in love with arseholes," Robert counters.

"You just fuck 'em."

Robert's making his prissy annoyed face now, but he looks like he's trying not to laugh. "I s'pose the pills the doc gave you are working?"

"Well, we're both lying here covered in jizz, so what do you think?" Jimmy sighs, and Robert holds him tighter. "I dunno, maybe they're not working and this is just the 'up' part before I crash again."

"How do you feel? I mean, do you feel different than usual?"

Jimmy shrugs. "I feel... relaxed, I guess. I just want to lie here and be with you."

"We can do that," Robert says with a smile in his voice. Jimmy can feel the soft stroke of Robert's fingers over his skin. "I got a letter from my mum today. She says she'd like to meet you. I was wondering, since Christmas is coming up, maybe you'd like to take a trip across the pond?"

"You wanna take me home to Mom, huh?" Jimmy teases.

"If you're not doing something with your folks. Are you? You never really mention your family."

"Oh shit." Jimmy's parents might be just a little worried that their fucked-up son abandoned his home and job and went off on a road trip with no means of contacting him. "I should probably let them know I'm not dead."

"When was the last time you spoke with them?"

"You, uh, you remember when we sent those postcards out in Florida?"

Robert sits up in astonishment, sending Jimmy sliding off his torso. "Pagey!"

"I know, I know, I just—I've had a lot of shit to deal with," Jimmy says, trying out his excuse. He rolls onto his back and reaches for the phone. It's kind of late, but he doesn't think they'll mind the hour since it's been about a month since they've last heard from him.

Robert shifts in the bed, turning onto his side and cuddling close as Jimmy waits through the rings. After a handful of terrifying seconds, his mother's voice sounds on the other end. "Hello?"

"Hey, um, it's me. Jimmy."

"Jimmy? Oh my—It's so good to hear your voice! Are you okay? We've been so worried!" He can hear her put her palm over the receiver and call for his father. "Jim, get in here, it's your son!"

"Did it ever get confusing, y'know, your husband and son having the same name?" Jimmy asks, doing his best to avoid the topic of how he's been screwing off the last two months.

"What's this mid-life crisis you were going on about? You really gave us a scare!"

"Sorry, I should've—" He shouldn't have run off like that. "I should've told you. I'm sorry. I just... I just needed to get away, I guess. But everything's fine now. I'm doing better. I, um..." His gaze drifts toward Robert. "I moved in with a friend, so... I'm pretty happy, all things considering."

"Is this friend of yours a man?" Mom asks, as though bracing herself for bad news.

"Um... Yeah? Is that... a problem?"

"He's not just a friend, is he?"

Jimmy sighs. "What do you want me to say here?"

"It's just... the last time you got close to a boy..." She trails off, and Jimmy's glad, because he doesn't need to hear the rest of that sentence. "I don't want you to get hurt again."

"No, no, it's not—Robert's nothing like him. He's good. He loves me."

Robert moves closer, resting his chin on Jimmy's shoulder. "Do I need to tell your mum how much I love you?"

"No, you giant weirdo," Jimmy says through a laugh, covering the receiver.

"Hi, Pagey's mum!" Robert calls before Jimmy nudges him away.

Mom chuckles at Robert's enthusiasm. "He certainly sounds like a nice boy. Just... be careful, honey, okay?"

"Yeah, sure... Um, you're not upset? I mean, I didn't know you knew about..."

"A mother knows. And I don't think you would have hurt yourself if Jeff was just a friend."

"Does Dad know?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" There's a minute's fumbling with the phone as they exchange muted whispers. Then Jimmy hears his father's voice. "Jim?"

"Hi, Dad..."

"Your mother tells me you're dating a boy."

"Well, he's twenty-nine, so he's not much of a boy anymore, but, yeah, that's about right."

"How did I end up raising such a smart-ass?"

"You did your best," Jimmy says with a shrug.

Dad sighs happily and clears his throat. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm great. Never better."

"Okay, well, you know, if you need anything..."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks."

"Tell him I want to meet this boyfriend of his," Mom says in the background.

Jimmy laughs to himself. "Well, Robert's pretty excited about meeting you guys, so, we'll see."

They say their goodbyes, and Jimmy hangs up, feeling unusually good about himself. Robert cuddles closer and kisses Jimmy's sandpapery cheek. "I'm proud of you," he says.

"For what? Making a phone call?"

"For helping yourself." Robert winds a lock of Jimmy's hair around his finger. He must know that Jimmy put actual effort into his appearance today—Jimmy's hair doesn't curl itself. "For seeing a doctor. For trying to get better."

Jimmy eases an arm around Robert's waist. "Don't give me all the credit. Bonzo helped. But yeah, I do wanna get better. For me, of course, but also for you." He looks at Robert, his eyes suddenly wetter than before. "I don't—I don't wanna go to places where you can't reach me, where you can't help me. I've been in those dark places before, and it scares the shit out of me. Hurting you is the last thing I ever wanna do. I have to get better because I can't let you resent me."

Robert gives him a wounded look. "Caring for someone has a cost, Pagey. I've always known that."

Jimmy shakes his head. "Not like this." How could Robert have known what he signed up for when he developed a crush on the sarcastic asshole who kept him company on all those nine-hour shifts at Swan Song?

"I don't think it's so bad." Robert lets his hand rest over Jimmy's chest, fingers lazily tweaking his nipple. "I love you, James Patrick Page."

"Wow, middle-naming me. That's some serious shit." Jimmy turns his head so Robert can capture his lips. He loves the taste of Robert, sweet and supple in his mouth. "You got any more of that weed left?"

Robert laughs and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "I thought you'd never ask!"


	25. Epilogue

Jimmy can't believe how fucking dreary England is. Maybe it's because today is Christmas Eve, and he's wrapped in more layers of clothing than he ever thought necessary, but the sky looks like it's had all the color sucked out of it through some sort of vacuum. It's the most depressing thing Jimmy's ever seen, and he's lived with crippling bouts of actual depression for over ten years.

"How did you grow up here and not turn into"—Jimmy searches for the proper comparison, but all he's left with is—" _me_?"

Robert laughs in that way of his when he knows he shouldn't. "Pagey, you're doing much better now."

"You know what I mean. Christ, no wonder the most influential musicians came from England. They all did drugs to distract themselves from how fucking depressing this place is."

"It's not all bad," Robert says. "A lot of the countryside is really beautiful."

And it is. As they head out of London, Jimmy really gets a chance to appreciate the natural beauty of the place. There's so much greenery—vibrant grass, flourishing trees, shrubbery bursting with flora—but against the grey backdrop of the sky it all looks washed out and muddy.

"Take a drink every time you see a brick building," Jimmy mutters, and Robert snorts amusement.

They reach Robert's mother's flat in Kidderminster, a town as dreary as the rest of England. They head inside the two-story brick edifice. "I totally get why you moved to LA," Jimmy says. "It's the exact opposite of this place."

"Try to behave yourself, Pagey."

"Me? I'm always a delight."

Robert finds the door and knocks. After a moment or two, a woman Jimmy's assuming is Robert's mother answers the door. "There's my two favorite boys!" she says, pulling them both into a hug. "Happy Christmas!"

"Oh, Mum..."

"I'm already a favorite? You barely even know me," Jimmy says, with affection.

She releases them and takes a good look at Jimmy. "Robert's told me plenty about you, Jimmy. But he failed to mention how handsome you are in person."

Robert's face goes red with chagrin. "Mum, please."

"Oh, stop. Do you think he's going to choose me over you?" She shakes her head like she can't believe Robert's serious.

Jimmy smirks. "Well, you do have a pretty nice place."

"Aren't you a charmer?" she laughs and invites them inside.

The flat is decorated in celebration of the approaching holiday. A Christmas tree sits in the corner of the living room, and the fireplace mantel is strung with tinsel. The couch is tossed with red and green throw pillows.

Jimmy steps into the warm apartment. "Thank you so much for letting us stay, Mrs. Plant."

"Oh, none of that 'Mrs. Plant' business. Just call me Mum."

Robert's looking around like he's never been here before. "You really filled the place up since the last time I was here."

"It's been a while, luv. Of course it looks different."

"Well, I mean, there's more things I remember... from the old house."

"Because I took them, dear." She looks at Jimmy, since Robert's busy studying the various trinkets on the bookshelves. "Would you two care for tea?"

"Um, do you have Coke?" At Robert's stunned look, Jimmy says, "You know what I mean, Robert." When will Robert stop acting like Jimmy's asking for an actual line of cocaine to be placed in front of him?

Mum seems amused by their playful bickering. "Let me check." She opens the fridge and digs around, finds an icy-cold soda can. "Here you go, luv. Anything for you, Robert?"

"N—no, thanks."

Jimmy sits at the dining table, which is covered in a Christmas-themed tablecloth and stacks of magazines and newspapers. He snaps open the soda can and takes a long, crisp drink. "So do you have any embarrassing pictures of Robert, or—"

"Pagey!"

"I'm certain I have quite a few," Mum says, "but I think I'll save those for later." She sits across from Jimmy at the table. "I'd like to know more about my son's special bloke. What business are you in?"

Jimmy feels a twinge of anxiety, dulled by the medication. "Oh, um, visual arts. I'm a tattoo artist, and I sell some drawings and paintings at, like, craft fairs and stuff." He knows he'll never pull in a six-figure income, and he'll never impress anyone financially, but Robert loves him regardless of his inability to be skilled at something that makes a lot of money.

"That sounds fun."

Jimmy shrugs and takes another drink. "It makes me happy."

"Look at all these presents," Robert says, interrupting their conversation.

Mum turns to face him. "Oh, there's a shop that just opened up in town. They have the nicest things—jewelry, clothes, anything you could ever want. I couldn't resist picking up a few items for you and Jimmy."

"Must've cost a lot," Robert sort of murmurs. "Did you get a job? I thought you couldn't work anymore because of your condition."

"Don't worry your head over that, dear. I do quite fine for myself."

"Yeah, Sunflower, don't be a buzzkill," Jimmy teases.

"'Sunflower'? Oh, isn't that just precious? Why didn't I think of that?"

"It was sort of a joke at first." Robert's still awkwardly sorting through the neatly-wrapped gifts underneath the tree. "Robert, will you stop being a weirdo and get over here? You can open your presents later."

Sheepish, Robert joins Jimmy at the table, worry etched on his brow. Jimmy makes note of that for later.

"I want to warn you, luv, I spoke with your father earlier this week and told him you were spending the holidays with me."

Robert visibly stiffens. "You—what? He rang you?"

Mum places a hand on top of Robert's own. "Yes, dear, even though we're not together anymore we do still talk on occasion. He rings me every now and then and asks about you."

Robert looks overwhelmed by that. "You don't think he's gonna come 'round this time, do you?"

"Maybe, maybe not. You know how your father is. I told him you were bringing Jimmy, so I'll be surprised if he does show."

"Yeah, I wouldn't wanna meet me either," Jimmy says, trying to lighten the mood.

Mum gives him one of those motherly, humoring smiles. "Has Robert spoken with you about his father?"

"He's told me enough." _Enough to know he's a great big bag of dicks._

Mum nods like that's the answer she expected. "What are your folks like, Jimmy?"

"They're pretty great, all things considering. I'm really lucky." When Jimmy brought Robert to his parents' house the week before, they welcomed him with open arms and a few rounds of embarrassing questions. But Jimmy knew why they're a little more guarded and wanting to know exactly what kind of person their son's making a life with. They'd written Jeff off as a friend, just happy to see Jimmy spending time with someone, and it almost cost their son his life. "They adore Robert."

"I can't understand why anyone wouldn't," Mum gloats, and Robert blushes and rolls his eyes with affection. "He's such a sweet boy."

"I'm almost thirty."

Jimmy chuckles and takes another long drink from the soda can. "You're still my little boy," Mum says, and Robert looks like he wants to politely die at the table.

"Both of you must be tired after such a long flight," Mum says, standing up. "Why don't I set you up in the bedroom, and later we can decide on dinner?"

Jimmy's fine with that, because jet lag has him a bit loopy. His fear of heights prevented him from sleeping on the plane, and the meds make him a little sleepier than he ought to be. Mum leads them to the bedroom on the right side of the flat. It's neatly tucked away, with a spacious closet and a private bathroom. She flips on the closet light and digs around. "It gets quite cold at night, so you'll probably need some more blankets."

Robert takes the stack of blankets from her and sets them on the bed. "You don't need to—I can show him 'round."

"Alright, just remember to put the lid down after you use the loo so the cat doesn't fall in."

"When did you get a cat?" Robert asks, bewildered.

"Just a little while ago. I could've sworn I'd told you about her."

Jimmy sees a white and orange shape dart under the bed. "Found her."

"You're not allergic, are you, Jimmy?"

"I guess we'll find out." Jimmy kneels down and lifts up the bedskirt, wanting to get a better look at the cat.

Mum kisses Robert's cheek and wishes them a good rest before leaving them alone.

"Pagey," Robert says, approaching the bed. "What are you doing?"

"I wanna see the cat." He grins at the sight of creepy, reflective eyes in the darkness. "Hey, you. Come on out. I give really great butt rubs. Just ask Robert."

"I didn't know you liked animals."

"Never trust a person who tells you they don't like animals, because they will kill you and wear your skin as a coat."

Robert huffs laughter, but the levity's gone as quickly as it appeared. He sits on the corner of the bed.

Jimmy sticks his hand underneath the bedskirt. The cat sniffs at it but doesn't seem interested. "I'm serious. Cruelty to animals is one of the warning signs you're dealing with a psycho. Read a book sometime."

Robert doesn't respond to that, so Jimmy thinks something's wrong. "Alright, what's your deal?" he asks, looking at his wilting sunflower. "You've been acting weird since we got here."

"I think my parents got a divorce since the last time I visited."

"Fucking duh, Robert. Your dad being a giant asshole is usually the kind of thing that breaks up a marriage."

Robert looks like a kid who's just had his lollipop taken away.

Jimmy sits up and climbs onto the bed beside him. "You still think it's your fault, don't you?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"What exactly did you do wrong?"

Robert takes a moment to think of an appropriate response to that. He ends up just shrugging and saying, "I dunno. I shouldn't have been... born the way I am, I guess."

"Well, if you hadn't, you wouldn't have ended up with me, so you gotta take the good with the bad here."

The corner of Robert's mouth twitches into a smile. "I thought without me they'd be better, y'know? I was the problem. So if I was out of the way..."

Jimmy takes Robert's hands in his own. "As strange as it might sound, parents were actual people before they became parents. Whatever problems they might have had before you existed... You can't blame yourself for everything, as much as you'd like to try."

"When did you get so wise, Pagey?"

Jimmy laughs. "Well, after about two months of Jonesy and Bonzo treating me like their own personal Dear Abby, I guess I learned a few things."

"All this wisdom and yet you're still afraid of flying."

"Shut up," Jimmy teases, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Robert grins and heads into the bathroom to freshen up. Jimmy kicks off his shoes, lies back on the bed. He vaguely detects the sensation of something climbing onto the mattress before his eyelids slip closed.

* * *

Jimmy wakes up because he smells something delicious cooking up in the kitchen. It takes him a moment to remember he's in England and there's nothing particularly delicious about British cuisine, but maybe Robert's using his cooking skills to add some much-needed flavor to whatever's being served.

The cat—a pudgy orange and white tabby—is perched near the edge of the bed, sleeping soundly. The bedroom door is open just a bit to allow the cat entry and exit, but closed enough to muffle most noise coming from the main room. However, Jimmy can hear Robert's voice, and he doesn't sound particularly happy. Jimmy strains to listen, but he can't make out any words from here.

He slips off of the bed and slinks toward the door. He catches a glimpse of Robert and an older man in the living room before ducking behind the door, out of sight.

"It's Christmas," the man says, and there's an odd quality of begging in his voice. "I think we should all be together for it, yeah? Me, you, your mum, and whatever bloke you've brought 'round. We're a family. Or at least we should be."

So this guy is Robert's father, huh? Jimmy smirks to himself. This ought to be good.

"So where were you when I needed my dad?" Robert asks. "Do you know what it was like for me? To hear my own father didn't want me in his house because of something as bloody stupid as liking blokes instead of girls? You even got a second chance to redeem yourself when Mum brought me back because I'd been hurt, but you turned me away again. You abandoned me."

Mr. Plant sighs. "I know, son. I failed you as a father, and I am truly, truly sorry for that. For all of it. For taking so long to realize how much I hurt you and your mum. But I have to start somewhere. If nothing else, I want you to know that I tried, maybe unsuccessfully, but tried nonetheless, to make amends."

"Well, I don't forgive you."

There's a brief silence, then Mr. Plant says, "What? Robert, I said I'm sorry."

"I know you did. And maybe you truly are sorry, but I'm not going to forgive you. You have to live with what you did for the rest of your life. You have to know it's never going to be okay," Robert says, his voice breaking. Jimmy feels the urge to comfort him but holds it back.

Mr. Plant heaves a deep sigh.

"But," Robert says, "'tis the season and all, and you _are_ my father, so if you want to be part of my life again, I suppose I can give you a second chance."

Mr. Plant looks at his son for a long moment. "I swear to you, I won't fail you again."

"We'll see about that." Then Robert's moving for the bedroom, and, shit, he cannot find out Jimmy was eavesdropping. Jimmy gets to his feet and busies himself with the cat, scratching behind its ears as though he's been doing this the entire time.

Robert edges the door open and pokes his head inside. "Pagey, you're awake? Dinner's almost ready, and there's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Oh?" He follows Robert into the living room and feigns total surprise at the stranger standing there.

"Dad, this is Jimmy," Robert says, introducing the two of them. He looks nervous, chewing his lower lip with worry.

Mr. Plant smiles and shakes Jimmy's hand. "Nice to meet you, Jimmy. How's Robert treating you?"

"Great, he's—he's a life-saver." Jimmy is wary to trust this guy, but if it weren't for Mr. Plant's abysmally poor parenting choices, Robert would never have moved to the US and met Jimmy. So maybe he can afford a bit of goodwill this holiday season.

"That's good. You take care of my boy, you hear me?"

"Sure thing." Jimmy's trying very hard not to say something sarcastic like, 'since when do you give a shit about him?' because if Robert can find it in his big, dumb heart to allow his father into his life again, who is Jimmy to judge? Jimmy doubts he's capable of that kind of graciousness himself.

Mr. Plant gives him a nod and a manly shoulder pat before heading into the kitchen to talk to Mum. Jimmy looks at Robert and says, "Can I have a word?"

Robert immediately looks guilty. He leads Jimmy to the sliding glass doors that open to the balcony. They step outside into the crisp, cold night air. A slight breeze flutters Jimmy's hair. "So you forgive him all of a sudden?" he asks, pretending to be oblivious.

Robert shakes his head. "No, but that doesn't mean he can't have a second chance. What he did... it's not okay, and forgiving him feels too much like saying it is, y'know?"

Jimmy gets it. "I never pegged you for a guy who'd carry a grudge. Doesn't that, like, poison your spirit or something else painfully new age?"

"Maybe someday I'll forgive him. But right now, I don't want him thinking himself a hero for facing up to the realization that he's done some really shitty things in the past. He didn't just hurt me. He hurt Mum, too."

Jimmy sees this for what it is, Robert's attempt at smoothing things over for his parents' sake; if he can accept his father as part of his life again, he probably thinks they'll get back together again. "He actually apologized?"

Robert nods. "I can't really be sure how sincere it is. He might have only said those things because he's lonely on Christmas Eve and doesn't want to sit around in an empty house and think about what he's lost. But if he is being honest, and I turn him away..." He trails off, staring out at the night.

Jimmy knows exactly what people are capable of when they feel like they've got nothing left. "Well, maybe just... don't expect him to be a good person. That way you won't get hurt when he's not."

"Yeah..."

"Hey, you were the one who wanted to come back to jolly ol' England," Jimmy teases, gently elbowing Robert in the side as they peer over the balcony railing at the world below. "You gotta have some good memories of this place."

"Of course. It wasn't all bad." A sly smile creeps over Robert's lips. "Y'know, if we have time, I'd love to take you up to Bron-Yr-Aur in Wales."

"The Hobbit village with no running water? How romantic."

"Certainly they've made some improvements since I was there last."

"I wouldn't count on it."

"It's still beautiful," Robert says, like he's proving a point.

Jimmy rolls his eyes. "Well, that settles it." He lays a hand on Robert's sweater-clad arm. "Hey, c'mon, you know I'll follow you anywhere, right?"

"Then follow me into the kitchen and have dinner with my parents," Robert says, linking his fingers with Jimmy's own and tugging him into the house.

* * *

  _They change their sky, not their soul, who run across the sea._

~ Horace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! :) Thank you for your support, be it through comments, kudos, bookmarks, or reblogging the story posts on tumblr~! ♥


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